Fic: Told You It's Hard to Breathe (2/2)
Cont'd from here
It's harder to avoid Jon when they're flying across the Atlantic Ocean. He's been pretending not to notice Jon, not notice the way Jon sort of watches him with strange eyes that he never gives anyone else. It makes his stomach turn, but it's more like throwing up now. He did that to Jon.
Except when they're flying towards Europe and Ryan and Brendon are asleep in their seats, Jon sits down next to him. There's nowhere to run, no curtains or phone calls to Haley.
Spencer wonders, absently, if throwing up his plane food on Jon's bare feet would make Jon move, but that seems more like Brendon's style. He settles for looking impassive and possibly bitchy. Jon's wearing fucking body spray again. It smells like candy, and Spencer hates him for it because he wants to taste it.
"Okay," Jon says, and he puts his hand on Spencer's arm. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm not going to tell anyone, and it's cool, Spencer."
His mouth feels a little dry because Jon's still giving him that look, sort of sly and soft at the edges. Close up, it looks nothing like disgust or anger or a thousand other things that he maybe thought it was. It warms the bottom of his stomach.
Jon squeezes his arm before he takes his hand away. "You're cool, Spencer," he says. His lisp trips over the soft 'c,' and Spencer smiles back at him. They make fun of the in-flight movie, pressed together and laughing.
***
Spencer waits until after the VMAs to tell Haley that he can't do it. He takes her to the awards mostly because he wants her to have a chance to say that she got to do something cool as the girlfriend of a rockstar. He still wants to be her friend, even if she cries into her hands when he tells her that he knows this isn't working. He hates the way her eyes go red and the way she looks at him with trembling lips to ask, "What isn't working?"
He wants to lie again, but he can't. "I'm not the right person for you. I can't tell you everything, and I want you to have better." He doesn't know if he loves her, but it hurts to see her like this. He wants to hug her because she's always cold, and her shoulders are shaking worse than ever now. He's not sure if he should offer his hoodie. She knows its one of his favorites, and she's the one who bought it for him. The tag said it was cantaloupe-colored, and there's a panda on one of the pockets.
"But I love you," she whispers. Her voice is high and girlish from crying, and he can feel the age difference now, eighteen months stretching out into something obscene.
He closes his eyes and wishes she'd start yelling, just so he'd have a reason to finally walk out of her living room and maybe delete her number from his Sidekick.
***
Ryan makes him soup when he comes back, after. Ryan makes soup now--and grilled cheese. There would have been grilled cheese, too, because Ryan's proud of his culinary skills, but there's no bread to be found.
He doesn't tell Ryan how it went, and Ryan doesn't ask. He ends up leaving the cantaloupe-panda hoodie with Haley, just to stop the tremors in her hands because he can't make her stop crying. He's shivering, too, and Ryan's hoodies are all too small. There's one of Jon's hanging over the back of a chair, but he won't put it on.
"I don't know what I'm going to do, Ry," he says, when his limbs are heavy from what could be regret but feels a lot like relief. "She was perfect."
"No one does, and no one is," Ryan says, and he kisses Spencer's forehead like he's five and needs mom-type comfort. He falls asleep after only half a bowl of chicken and stars soup.
***
After the New Year's show, Spencer has a hotel room to himself. He and Brendon were supposed to share, as single and newly-single, but Brendon found someone else to spend the night with, so Spencer's alone. It's rare enough that he stretches out on the too-big bed and wiggles his fingers and toes until he's sure that he's rolled over every edge. He takes an honest-to-god bubble bath that leaves him smelling like mint and some sort of flower, and he wears one of the camisoles that usually gets tossed into the corner of his duffel, just to watch bad sci-fi movies.
It's perfect and relaxing, which means of course Jon has to come in at a little past four and fuck everything to hell. He uses a key to get in, and Spencer jolts out of a half-sleep to scramble under his comforter.
Jon crawls on top of the comforter and lays down. He looks older than twenty-one in the dark shadows. "Ryan gave me the key to your room," he says, and he immediately knows why Ryan sent Jon here. Spencer can smell beer and something sharper. He doesn't know alcohol by smell, not like Ryan does, but he knows enough to know that something's wrong.
"Okay," he says, and he moves to grab his bag. There's an oversized t-shirt in it, long enough to cover the camisole and the underwear.
"Spence," Jon says, pushing up onto his elbows. "Seriously, you're ruining my morose cuddle here."
Spencer rolls his eyes and tries to get out of bed with the t-shirt against his body. The straps of the cami are still obvious, and he sort of thinks that this is a scene from an old movie, when the embarrassed heroine is trying to hide the fact that she's only in her bra. He doesn't know what that makes Jon.
"Spencer," Jon says again, and he gets off the bed and comes close enough that Spencer could count his eyelashes. He puts his hands on the t-shirt and pulls until Spencer lets it go, hard enough that Spencer stumbles just a little, and then the fabric is pooled around their feet.
His throat is tight when Jon looks at him. He's a little taller than Jon now, just barely noticeable that he has to look down at Jon's eyes. His fingers are shaking, and he wonders if he looks as awkward and gangly as he feels now, all boy limbs in girl's clothing.
No one's actually looked at him when he's dressed like this, and he waits for Jon to look at him like there's something wrong with the camisole or the fact that there are multicolored snowflakes on his panties instead of plaid on his boxers.
Instead, Jon steps back and gives him that same look, and when he rolls his eyes up to Spencer, there's almost heat in his smile. Spencer has to look away. He lays back down on the bed, and Jon tucks himself beside him. They watch the end of some shitty vampire movie with Eddie Murphy and don't talk about why Jon's there instead of in his room with Cassie.
***
They wake up the next morning, and Jon acts like nothing's changed, sliding on his flipflops and shuffling out in search of his girlfriend. Spencer gets dressed and makes it to the lobby first, sunglasses over his eyes because he doesn't want to look at Ryan's stupid smiles and Keltie's hands tucked around Ryan's arm. He's not jealous. He just wants and wishes he hadn't broken up with Haley.
He doesn't, though, not really. Spencer can smell alcohol on his skin, just from sleeping in the same bed, when Jon started to sweat it out. It's sour and not-really-great. He can't get the look on Jon's face out of his head, even if Jon was wasted and upset. It was still there, something that still makes Spencer's tongue feel like sandpaper.
Jon comes down next with Cassie, and there's a foot of space between them. "Hi," Jon says, and he's looking directly at Ryan. Spencer closes his eyes and wills for Brendon to get his ass into the lobby, so they can go out into the cold and put this whole weekend behind them.
***
Jon's the one who avoids him now, and it's easier because Jon goes back to Chicago for their break, after giving Spencer a hug that lasted maybe a half-second too long in the airport. He doesn't respond to the seven text messages that Spencer sends. He doesn't call or email pictures of Dylan. Spencer has to see the newest photos on Ryan's laptop, and he wants to email Jon and bitch him out for it.
He doesn't, though. He just lets Jon slip away and hangs out with Ryan as much as possible. He doesn't know what's going on, and if that's what Jon wants, he can pretend that it doesn't bother him. Spencer tells himself that until the words don't actually mean anything. Jon'll come back, and they'll go to the cabin, and everything will be normal.
There are other things he can try to distract himself with, like real estate. He buys a house and buys chaise lounges and couches to fill it. He buys mirrors and sets them against the walls so he can walk past them in any outfit he wants.
Spencer dresses slowly in front of the bedroom mirror, watching silk slide over his shoulders and then up his legs. The bedroom isn't finished, the first layer of primer rolled over hideously green walls. There are tarps on the ground, and he knows that he'll have to take the mirror out of the room in the morning for the decorators.
He sits in front of the mirror and wonders what he's supposed to see when he looks at his reflection. It's normal to him, to dress like this before layering junior's jeans and t-shirts over top, but he knows that he's going to have to stop, at least part way. The jeans are getting too short, and there isn't enough room in the shoulders of the shirts. He's not built tiny like Brendon. He wears men's clothes sometimes, over the panties, and it still looks like him, especially when he smiles.
Three weeks before they're supposed to go to the cabin, Brendon comes by with his glasses on and hands tucked into his back pockets. Spencer throws an old t-shirt and sweatpants on before he lets him in. Brendon's the only one left who doesn't look at him and just knows. He doesn't worry about what Brendon thinks when they're talking about music, movies, or whether or not Ryan smells like cheese.
"You want anything?" Spencer asks. There's no carpet in the house yet, except in his bedroom. Brendon's tennis shoes are squeaking on the hard wood.
Brendon shakes his head and bounces on the balls of his feet. "No, I'm all right." He bounces three more times, licking his lips while his eyes dart around the house. "So, Jon broke up with Cassie, and I'm not supposed to tell you." He manages to make himself still, and there are questions in his dark eyes.
Spencer just blinks at Brendon. "You came over here to tell me that." He crosses his arms. "Instead of picking up the phone." He doesn't ask why he's not supposed to know, or why Jon couldn't tell him himself. His heart stutters in his chest a little, but he's not going to attach meaning to it.
"Yeah, yeah," Brendon says and scratches his head. "Maybe I missed you, too. You've been all mopey since we got back from New York." He pokes Spencer's arm with a soft smile. "Some of us might be worried."
Spencer rolls his eyes because he's been out of the house every day from eight until four, when the decorators are supposed to leave. He's been over Ryan's, his parent's, the park where he tried to skateboard as a kid. He's been to the mall and a hundred different music stores. There are three half-assembled kits in his garage because he parks his car in the driveway.
"I've been around," he says and tries not to wince because he has been avoiding Brendon in favor of hanging out in his house that always smells like spackle and fresh paint to commune with the mirrors.
Brendon looks at his feet, and when he looks up, he's serious again, face smooth and mouth pressed into a line. His eyes remind Spencer of his sisters, when they first learned that the Easter Bunny was a fraud. "So, if there was something going on, between you and Jon, you'd tell the rest of us, right?"
Spencer wants to laugh, but there's something in the way that Brendon says it that makes him stop. "There's nothing to tell," he says instead, smiling at Brendon's defeated posture and sad eyes. "And I'd tell you because it would affect the band, dumbass."
"Oh," Brendon says and shakes his head like he's been an idiot. "Duh. We should go out for pizza and then eat it obnoxiously on Ryan's lawn." Brendon bounces again. "He didn't open his door when I came over, and I think he might have died."
"And eating pizza will make him rise from the dead?" Spencer's rolling his eyes, but he heads back to his disassembled bedroom to find real clothes and possibly shoes.
***
When they hit the cabin, they all have their own rooms. Spencer sets up his bags and unpacks, glad for the privacy. He would have roomed with Ryan, but Ryan wanted thinking space. When he gets into the guitarist's room, he winces, as "thinking space" apparently means "huge fucking mess." Ryan has three guitar cases thrown around, and his suitcases are frothing clothes on the floor already. They've maybe been at the cabin for an hour.
He sits down on Ryan's unmade bed. The sheets are kicked over towards the dresser. "Jon knows," he says as soon as Ryan comes back into the room from shoving his toothpaste and shampoo into the bathroom that he and Spencer are going to share.
Ryan goes still. "You're sure he knows?" His voice is careful, more guarded that Spencer remembers Ryan ever using with him. It's a flash from the time before, the way he talked to Brendon before Brendon got down on the floor and did his Gollum impression. It's the way Ryan talks to people he doesn't know if he can trust or wants to trust. It makes Spencer's skin feel tight, that Ryan would ever look at him like that.
Spencer throws a pillow at him. "He pantsed me, and..." He waves a hand in the air.
"When?" Ryan sits down near him, stretching out on the bed. There's a foot of space between them.
"Awhile ago, on the bus. It was an accident." Spencer scrubs his hand over his face. He needs to shave, badly. He's not used to being able to scratch his fingers on his own chin, but none of them are really worrying about it here. Even Ryan's started growing patchy stubble.
Ryan sighs and follows the geometric designs on his pillowcase with his finger "So he's not weirded out by it?"
Spencer looks at him with both eyebrows raised. "Not really. He's actually sort of..." He doesn't know the word for it. He wants to say more accepting, possibly more than Ryan is, but that wouldn't help the carefulness in Ryan's words and the way his eyes are flinching, ready for the blow.
He realizes in a jolt where he saw the look last, just before Spencer took his Sidekick into the back of the bus and called Brent, and reaches over. He squeezes Ryan's hand. "He's not going to leave the band because of it. Jon's not like that."
Ryan laughs, too soft and shallow. "Okay." He doesn't believe Spencer, and they both know it.
They stay like that, hands joined, until Brendon barrels in and tells them that he is going to make English muffin pizzas, right then. Spencer goes with him to make sure that the cabin doesn't burn down.
***
They all drink at the cabin. Jon's twenty-one, he can buy alcohol, and there isn't much to do until Ryan has the feel for the album ready. Even Ryan takes a few beer bottles into his room when he's hiding with his notebooks.
Really, they all drink a little too much, enough that Brendon sings along with reruns of Barney in a way that's probably going to fuck up his voice, and Jon joins in. Spencer takes his beer onto the roof, climbing up through Brendon's room, and he drinks up there.
On the roof, he can almost see Vegas, the haze of lights that seem to peak out behind the mountains when he stands up. It occurs to him after his fourth or fifth Corona that perhaps going on the roof was a bad idea. His vision is just starting to swim, and he probably shouldn't be swinging down into any windows. It's very hard to play the drums with a broken leg or worse.
Spencer stretches out and waits. He can still hear Brendon singing, and he opens his mouth to sing along. Except that he doesn't, because Jon's there suddenly. He hasn't talked to Jon outside of band meetings and the occasional shared eye-roll (which counts as talking, now that his head is swimming and his limbs feel loose), but Jon's there now.
Jon's got his hand on Spencer's arm. "You shouldn't be up here," he says. His voice is warm, and Spencer leans toward it because he's cold, on the roof in the middle of the mountains in a washed-thin t-shirt.
"I like it up here. It's quiet." He doesn't want to lean in and smell Jon's neck, but he does. He does, and he does it. Jon just smells like Jon, beer and weed and maybe the smell that's supposed to be Jon underneath all of that.
Jon pushes on his shoulders, and Spencer can't read his face. "Spence," he says, and there's something in his voice, something different and deeper. Spencer shivers and doesn't care if Jon notices. "We need to get you off of here." He doesn't move and doesn't take his hands away.
Spencer smiles at him, looking up because Jon's on his knees and Spencer's still sort of sprawled out. He's usually better about this, more responsible and less relaxed, but he likes relaxing in front of Jon. "You're drunk too," he says like this is a great secret of the universe. He leans against Jon's legs because Jon is warm.
"Not as bad as you." Jon's hands move, running over Spencer's arms. He doesn't take them away, and Spencer's warmer than he was before, warmer than he should be on just beer.
He looks up at Jon again, and, with the backyard lights on and the moon, he thinks that maybe he sees that look again. Spencer likes that look, enough to tip his face up to Jon's and bring their mouths together. It's too hard, teeth clicking against each other. Jon moves onto his hands onto Spencer's neck and bites at Spencer's lower lip.
Jon tastes almost the same way he smells, except that there's something sweeter there, like he had candy in the past hour and hasn't brushed it out of his mouth yet. Spencer is determined to find out what it is, pushing his tongue against Jon's to get a much better idea.
Their positioning is awkward, Spencer twisted up and Jon trying to balance on his knees. Jon doesn't climb on top of him though, and Spencer doesn't sit up properly. He grips at Jon, holding onto his t-shirt. If he was sober, he'd recognize that this is going to be hell on his back. But he's not sober, just pressing himself against Jon. Jon's hands are on his hips, dipping below his waistband. His fingernails press the lace against Spencer's skin, hard enough to imprint the skin.
It's Jon who pulls away first, pulls his hands back, breathing hard and eyes wide. He moves his hands onto Spencer's shoulders before he stands up. "No, Spencer," he says, like he didn't have his tongue down Spencer's throat thirty-seconds before.
Spencer doesn't take Jon's hand when it's offered. His skin is flushed, hot in new ways that have nothing to do with the tightness of his jeans. "No," he says back to Jon, parroting because he can still taste Jon. The sweetness is probably syrup, maybe chocolate. It's hard to tell, and it's already fading off his tongue.
Jon looks out at the mountains. "We need to get you off the roof, Spence. Come on."
He doesn't want to stand, and he doesn't want help from Jon. There's the childish impulse to cross his arms over his chest and stay right where he is, thank you very much, but then he'd have to listen to Ryan bitch about driving him to the hospital as Ryan's probably the only one sober enough to do it. Spencer's starting to come down, enough to know that there's something strained in Jon's half-shadowed smile.
Jon helps him down, though, and when Spencer's shirt rides up and Jon's thumbs press against his heated skin, neither of them mention it. Spencer might, however, slam his bedroom door when he goes to bed.
***
His hangover the next day would be much more enjoyable if he could forget as he pads into the kitchen for water. Brendon's already there, slumped over a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and looking like someone beat him over the head. Spencer looks at the cereal and the open jug of milk that's still sitting out.
Spencer opens the package of bagels instead, throwing one into the toaster.
"I think that if, like, the Elders would tell you how shitty you feel after drinking too much instead of being all sins, they'd have a lot less of us sneaking out and getting high behind sheds," Brendon mumbles around his cereal.
Spencer nods and closes his eyes. The kitchen is too bright, and he wants to go back to bed. It's well after noon, but he feels like he hasn't slept at all. He keeps seeing the roof, the "no" and the way Jon's hands snapped back.
He's concentrating on forgetting all of that when Jon actually comes into the kitchen, and it's sort of unpleasant to open his eyes, just as the bagel pops up, and see him there. Spencer needs sunglasses, like the ones Ryan has fallen in love with that make him look like a jackass. Jackass is just about the right speed for being this hung over this early in the morning.
He picks his bagel out of the toaster and sits down next to Brendon without looking back at Jon.
Brendon stops chewing his cereal. Spencer can look at him, and he regrets when he does. Brendon's sort of looking back and forth between them, eyes cartoonishly wide. He raises his eyebrows at Spencer, and he knows that Brendon's trying to ask him something. It's unfortunate, because even on his best days, Spencer can't get Brendon's eyebrow-talk like he can Ryan's.
Jon clears his throat. "Hey, Brendon?" It's the same soft voice that said no, only it's smoother now. The bastard's probably not even all that hung over. "Can you give me and Spencer a minute?"
Spencer moves to get up and leave his breakfast. He's going back to bed. It's too early for this shit. "Don't worry about it, Urie. I'm going back to bed."
And Brendon, because he is a traitor, gets up faster. He puts his hand on Spencer's arm. "No, it's cool. I'm gonna go and see what's up." He grins despite the dark circles under his eyes. "Ryan should be up." He's out of the kitchen before Spencer can tell him to knock that shit the fuck off.
He picks at the dry bagel. It's started to get cold, and it's sort of tasteless. "What do you want, Walker?"
Jon sits down at the table, and Spencer glares up at him. He looks normal, sleep rumbled with lines on his face from the pillow case. "So about last night."
"Yeah, no," Spencer snaps. He pushes back from the table again. "I'm not going to talk about that with you." He's not going let Jon make him feel like a freak or that it's wrong. His hands might be shaking, but he presses his palms flat so Jon can't tell.
"We don't have to talk," Jon says, and he reaches across the table. He doesn't touch Spencer's hand, but his fingers are close. "I just wanted to make sure you didn't get the wrong idea."
He bites his tongue on a thousand snappish remarks and raises his eyebrows. He leans back in his chair and pulls his hands back, crossing his arms over his chest.
Jon's shoulders droop. "It's just. I don't think it's a good idea--"
There are some days when Spencer's really glad that he's the youngest member of the band, because he can do things like leave the room when someone's talking to him. He only does it with the band, and it's usually a joke. It's because he's immature, you see, because he's nineteen and it just seems like a really good idea to leave because he's going to deck Jon Walker. His head aches, and he just wants this all to be forgotten. They should have gotten high before they started drinking. Spencer always forgets everything that way.
Usually, though, he doesn't have Jon come after him and grab onto his wrist hard enough to bruise. "You have to let me finish," Jon says, and he doesn't let up on the pressure.
He crowds Spencer back against the wall, where Ryan or Brendon could come down and see. "Spencer," Jon says, voice low and rough. "I don't want to fuck up things up because we were drunk. The band doesn't need us making drama over something stupid." He's close enough that Spencer can smell his cinnamon toothpaste. The same look is on Jon's face, and his free hand moves onto Spencer's hip, holding him there. "All right?"
Spencer nods, and Jon lets him go. He can't look away from Jon's face, the way his eyes seem dark in the afternoon sunshine that's screaming in through uncovered windows. Spencer still wants the sun to go behind clouds and hide for another few hours, but he doesn't want to miss that look. Spencer licks his lips, and Jon follows the movement.
"Something stupid?" he says. If his voice is a little deeper than it needs to be, he's not doing it on purpose.
"Something that could be stupid if we're wasted and don't mean it." Jon steps back, and Spencer moves forward. Jon bites his lips down on a smile.
"If we're sober?"
Jon's smile grows, and he shrugs. His smile is a tell, though. He doesn't answer Spencer.
He can hear Ryan squawking upstairs, and he knows that Brendon's gotten him up and out of bed. There's no chance to go back to sleep now.
"I need aspirin," Spencer says, and Jon lets him take the out.
***
It's sort of like an awkward dance. Jon doesn't crowd him, and they don't spend time alone together. They never sit next to each other to watch movies, but there are always moments where their eyes meet. Then Jon smiles at him, just enough to be predatory. Spencer's eyes go wide, and sometimes, he backs up, like Jon's something that could eat him. Sometimes, though, he gives the smile back, pressing his shoulder against Jon's when he passes him in a hallway.
Except that Jon knows, and when Spencer wonders what it would be like, to have Jon leaning over him or pressed under him and to have that knowledge there, to have Jon's hand pressed against him, with just soft lace between their skin.
His fingers twitch at the thought. He's not sure what makes his throat tight, want or fear. In his daydreams, Jon usually pulls the panties off quickly and never looks, averts his eyes until it's over.
Brendon takes Ryan with him to go and restock the kitchen, and Spencer knows Jon put him up to it by the way Brendon tries to give Spencer subtle looks at Jon, nodding his head and widening his eyes. He doesn't know what it's supposed to mean, but he pulls on boxer shorts under his jeans after his shower.
Jon's got the X-Box going, bare feet against the coffee table. He's playing one of the racing games, and Spencer tries not to roll his eyes. He hates racing games.
Except that Jon looks up when he comes in, and he pauses the game and sets the controller down a little too quickly "Hey," he says.
Spencer shifts uncomfortably. He's never been terribly smooth at this part. Even with Haley, it was more about getting to the hotel room and then staring blankly until she took the initiative and pulled him down on top of her. Now he's standing next to the couch, and Jon's just looking at him.
"Hey," he says back. He rests his hip against the couch's arm.
Jon smiles. "Brendon and Ryan are going to be back in an hour or so. Brendon made sure that I knew about it." He's laughing, Spencer knows.
Spencer smiles, stomach twisted. He wishes that it would just happen, just start. "Yeah, me too." He wipes his hands on his jeans. "I think he suspects something."
"He might," Jon says, and then he leans up and kisses Spencer. It's gentle and soft, and Spencer has to balance with one hand on the back of the couch.
Jon laughs against his mouth and pulls him down, so Spencer is sprawled across him. Jon is warm, warmer than Spencer thought he would be and his mouth is on Spencer's throat, beard scratching at the skin. There's no real preamble, just Jon rocking his hips lazily up against Spencer's and Spencer pressing his fingers against Jon's shoulders and chest.
Jon rolls them onto the floor, and they're cramped between the furniture, barely enough room to move. They could both move push on the formica table and get it out of the way, but they don't. Jon's on top of him, and he's heavier than Spencer thought he would be, heavy enough that Spencer almost feels pinned. He bites at Jon's jaw as he pushes Jon's t-shirt up.
"We're probably supposed to go to one of our rooms, in Brendon's master plan," Jon says, and he has Spencer's shirt up too, rolled around his chest, and then he pulls it off completely. He keeps talking against Spencer's skin, but he can't hear it, just feel the vibrations and the scrape of Jon's beard against his nipples, stomach.
He tries to agree, but the words get lost somewhere. He can't really concentrate on Brendon right now, doesn't want to think about anything except the way Jon's hands are on his hips and undoing his belt.
Jon gets his jeans open, and then he stops. "Spencer," he says, and it's different. The breathlessness is still there, but the roughness is gone. He sounds almost sad.
Spencer sits up a little, and Jon's knees are on either side of his legs. Jon's not moving though, and he's rolling his shirt down. "What?" The fly of his jeans are still open, and he can see the press of himself against the boxer fabric.
Jon leans over and kisses him in a way that doesn't feel like a promise or an invitation. It feels like an apology. "This should be real, if we're going to do this." he says, like Spencer's supposed to get it.
He crosses his arms over his chest. "It's not."
"I don't want you to pretend, okay?" Jon leans down to kiss him again, the same sort of apologetic bullshit that's starting to piss Spencer off. "I know that you don't--"
Spencer pulls back and lets out a hissing breath. He wants to give Jon an explanation, and he can't without feeling like a freak. He doesn't let himself feel like that anymore, because he knows that he's not.
He knows a hundred things about himself, like that he's got nice eyes and he's actually sort of handsome. He knows, but there's something about showing himself to Jon like that, at that moment where everything's sort of without pretense and all instinct, that makes him want to hide behind ugly plaids. "It's all right," he says. "It's weird."
Jon shakes his head, and he bites at Spencer's mouth this time, catches his bottom lip between his teeth and tugs. "It's not like that, Spence," he says when he's pulled back. Jon's eyes are warm and dark brown. "I just... you look." He waves his hand.
"I liked you before," Jon says, after a long stretch of silence because Spencer is not going to talk. His entire mouth locks up, freezes, and he doesn't know what to say. "It's more than just, like, girl's underwear, but..." He kisses Spencer again, and it's all tongue and teeth, dominating, until he pulls back and whispers, against Spencer's mouth, "Let me take your picture."
Spencer stills and pushes Jon away with both hands. There's a thousand things that could go wrong, just within the four of them. Then there's the internet, their friends, a thousand chances to get fucked over and splashed on the pages of Star. They're not really that famous, but he thinks that if pictures surface of him in boyshorts, the magazines might make an exception.
"Jon," he says, finally, and he drags out his name in preparation for an apology. He frowns hard enough to make his face wrinkle.
"Think about it." Jon gets off the floor and unpauses the game.
***
The problem is that now Spencer can't think about anything else. He thinks about it when he's supposed to be coming up with the drum part for the snatch of melody Ryan's given up. He and Brendon sit next to his drum set, and they both take turns trying something. He can't hear Brendon's ideas because he remembers Jon's hands on his stomach, and all the parts he makes up sound the same.
Ryan corners him after dinner that night, in his Ryan way of opening his bedroom door without knocking. "You're acting weird," he says. Ryan has worn a vest made from fake flowers and used an entire pot of MAC eyeshadow on his face. Spencer raises his eyebrows and doesn't say anything. "And I want to know what's up."
Spencer looked back up at the ceiling. "On a scale of one to ten, how dumb is it," he almost says the picture thing, almost, but, for a former Livejournal camerawhore, Ryan was too obsessed with their image not to call out a ten, "would it be for me and Jon to..." He lets the question trail off.
Ryan makes a long hissing breath, and he folds his limbs up. He's not surprised, though, just serious and considering. They haven't talked about Jon before, but it's comforting to know that Ryan knew--and slightly more comforting to know that Ryan didn't need to confront him about it.
"I think," Ryan starts but then shakes his head, "it's not a great idea, but it's not like. It happens, and I don't want your weird sexual frustration breaking up the band, either. And then Brendon could shut up about his plans to hook you two up." He gives a ghost of a smile. "And it's not like we're talking about dating, right?"
There would be something nice in that, in dating Jon, but he just kicks Ryan's ankle lightly. "Yeah, not so much looking into civil unions."
"Good, because I'm not going to Vermont. It's fucking cold there." Ryan lays down next to Spencer. There is ink on his hands, and he has blue smudges on his t-shirt. "And I'm not looking forward to seeing you in a wedding dress."
Spencer uses two hands to push Ryan off the bed.
***
When he decides that it's all right, that he's going to do it, he takes one of the disposable razors out of the bathroom and shaves his legs. He's done it before, a few times, before he decided the maintenance was too much and he could just let them go hairy. He's also had more chances to read Cosmo in shitty dressing rooms than most men, and he knows how he's supposed to do it, pull up from the ankle and watch around the knees. Spencer still manages to cut himself twice on the left leg and once on the right. It feels weird, to use his shaving cream that probably isn't formulated for legs and take the hair off.
His legs always look paler when he's down, and he runs his hands over them before he throws the razor out. "Okay," he says to himself, and his voice sounds mostly sure.
They go swimming that afternoon, Ryan refusing to budge from his lawn chair even with a hat and 50 SPF sunblock and Brendon doing cannon balls off the dock to try and splash Ryan. Spencer sits on the shore, toes in the water because it's a lake and he won't swim alone in anything that is not made of concrete and heavily chlorinated. He only laughs half-heartedly at Brendon's antics because he needs to talk to Jon. He can't concentrate on anything else.
Jon, predictably, is off taking pictures. He waved to the three of them with blue zinc-oxide on his nose before venturing off to photograph flowers and rocks with his camera, anything that strikes his fancy. He says this to Spencer, with a dark little smile. The memory sort of warms Spencer's limbs more than the sun can. He covers his smile with one hand.
Of course, it's Brendon who notices first, when he's coming out onto the beach. "Dude, you shave your legs?" he says before flopping down next to Spencer. He's just laying on rocks and dirty sand. The towels are over next to Ryan, and Brendon's not stupid enough to go over there, not yet.
Spencer doesn't blush, not exactly, but he's fair and the sun's out in full force. No one's going to notice. "Sometimes," he answers, voice even. He gives Brendon a look out of the corner of his eye.
Brendon squints into the sun to look at him. "You're kind of weird, Spencer Smith." He's grinning though, and Spencer smiles back.
Ryan's swathed in a terry cover-up that probably came from the women's swimwear section, and Jon's blue nose. There are purple lightning bolts on Brendon's orange swim trunks. "Yeah, but you guys couldn't have me if I wasn't."
Brendon grins again and leans closer to Spencer. "When Jon comes back, do you think the three of us could dump Ryan into the water?" He's whispering, like Ryan can hear him from twenty feet away.
Spencer looks at Ryan, whose reading some thick book that looks impossibly boring and tries not to smile. "We could probably do it without him." Spencer can lift Ryan now, and it's not that far to the water. It's probably a bad thing to do to one's best friend, but Ryan would do it to Spencer, if he didn't weigh twenty pounds and have the upper body strength of a kitten.
It doesn't matter, because he can hear Jon's flipflops coming down the path. Brendon hears it too, and his grin just goes wider. He's not sure how he never noticed that Brendon was sort of evil before. "Jon Walker, the man we need," Brendon says.
Jon comes close enough that his knee can brush Spencer's arm when he crouches down. "What's up?"
"We're dunking Ryan. You're going to help us." Brendon stands up, and there are rocks stuck along his back, like he's suddenly half-reptile.
When Brendon's back is turned, Spencer taps Jon's shoulder. "Tonight," he says, meeting Jon's steady gaze.
Jon stills. "All right. Your room?" He holds his hand out to help Spencer up.
He takes it. "Yeah," he says. He squeezes Jon's hand before they catch up to Brendon.
***
Spencer's okay with the eventuality of the night until it's almost five in the afternoon and he's supposed to be making dinner. It all sort of crashes down while he's throwing a pot of water on the stove to boil. (He's not the best cook, but Brendon can really only order take out and make salads, and Ryan only does soups and grilled cheese. Jon can actually make real food, but it isn’t his night to cook for another three days.)
He stands in front of the stove and stare down into the silver bottom of the pot. He can hear Jon and Ryan messing around in the studio, too many guitars going at once, and there's a chance that they are going to fuck this up, before they fix whatever else is wrong. The music isn’t gelling, and they're only going to add another layer of too-thick tension.
Somewhere, in all of this, he forgot about the album that they're all fighting to make. It's sort of a pipe-dream now, as hopeless as getting discovered was when they first started. He knows they've already had their lightening strike, and he doesn't want to be the one to make things go wrong, especially if he thinks it's going to be as weird as he thinks it is.
He turns away from the pot to go and to tell Jon that this is a bad idea, that they need to really think about this. The air is too thin in the mountains, and he thinks it makes it harder for any of them to think straight. There’s no way they can tell if this’ll change everything for the worse, because it’s just the four of them here, without the drama and the press.
But then Brendon's in the doorway, eyebrows high. "Didn't your mom ever tell you about watched pots?" he says, lips quirked into what Spencer knows will become a real smile soon.
Spencer rolls his eyes and wipes his palms on the thighs of his jeans. "I was thinking," he says, and then stops. The water is going to boil soon, watched or no, and he needs to find the pasta and then pull the frozen vegetables out of the freezer. It's not the most nutritious meal, but it's something.
Brendon scoots himself onto the counter, feet hitting against the cabinets. "What were you thinking about?"
Spencer doesn't answer for a while, unearthing the last box of rotini noodles and dumping the entire thing into the pot. "It's nothing," he says carefully, turning the stove top up.
Brendon laughs. "I think you think about things too much. You just need to go for it," he says, and he really is grinning at the end, waggling his eyebrows. "Because I think you're thinking about Jon."
Spencer rolls his eyes and ignores him, keeping his eyes on the water as it turns cloudy from the pasta. He doesn't need to answer Brendon's stupid questions about Jon or feed into whatever Brendon thinks is going on there. Brendon doesn't know anything about this, and it's none of his business.
Except. He looks at Brendon from under his eyelashes, one quick stolen glance. Brendon's just watching him stand in front of the pasta with an almost peaceful expression, only wincing a little when one of the dueling guitars in the background hits a completely fucked up chord. (Ryan will probably love it and want it on the album, he knows.)
Except that it is sort of Brendon's business, because it's partially Brendon's band as much as it is his or Jon's, and if they take that risk, and something goes wrong, Brendon's going to find out. It won't be from him or from Jon or Ryan. It won't be stupid mistakes or too-loose pants. It's going to be Pete at best, or a supermarket tabloid. It could be Brendon's mom, for all Spencer knows. These things work in strange ways.
He puts his spoon down and doesn't look at Brendon still. "If there were," he starts, but he doesn't know how to finish. He's never tried to tell anyone, to say it out loud, and it's not like he can expect Brendon to just know.
"If there were?" Brendon repeats, voice gentle, as he scoots a little closer to the stove.
He shakes his head and forces himself to look at Brendon. He wants to close his eyes, but he can't because this is Brendon. "You know how Brian, like from the Dresden Dolls--"
"I know where Brian's from," Brendon interrupts, like there's only one Brian in the entire world that they all know. His eyebrows are just a little wrinkled with confusion. "What about Brian? Do you think we could take him and Amanda again, to open for us? If we could finish the album, I think they'd go really well with whatever sound Ryan's trying to make."
Spencer rolls his eyes. "I think we need to worry about finishing the thing before we talk about openers." He sticks his hands into his back pockets. "But you know how Brian does, um," he has to look at Brendon; he can't look away from Brendon, "that whole thing, with women's clothes." He doesn't know why he can't just say it, but his fingers are shaking.
Brendon nods. "Yeah, I know. He's Brian. What about him?"
Spencer forces himself to take a breath. It's shallow because he's three seconds from running out of the room and away from this conversation. Brendon's supposed to be his safety, the only one that doesn't know anything about that. He could walk out right now, tell Jon to forget the whole thing, and Brendon would never have to know.
"This isn't about Brian," Spencer says instead of walking out and away. He looks at Brendon's face, meeting his eyes. "This is about me."
Brendon blinks and looks away first. "Oh," he says, and he slides off the counter. "Um." He doesn't back away from Spencer, but he doesn't say anything else.
"There's a chance that if Jon and I do anything, that someone could find out," Spencer says, and he's just barely not-whispering. "And I didn't want you to find out like that." He doesn't really want to think about how anyone could find out, but there is a possibility.
Brendon nods. "Oh," he says again. He wraps his arms around himself. "So Jon and Ryan know?" He's still speaking carefully, forehead creased.
Spencer looks back at the pasta and stirs it again. "Yeah. Ryan's known forever, and Jon found out by accident." He feels like he should explain the theory of Brendon being safe for him, but it sounds sort of stupid in his head. Spencer probably couldn't get it out if he tried.
Brendon goes quiet again, still wrapped up in himself. Spencer makes as much noise as he can with the vegetable medley, banging the frozen bag around as he dumps it all into the steamer. He throws the steamer into the microwave and slams the door after it. He tries not to concentrate on how Brendon's not talking or moving, but he can't stop glancing back.
And then Brendon moves forward and puts his arms around Spencer's neck and holds him. "I don't know what to say yet," he says, voice a little shaky. Spencer hasn't heard that voice in years; it's the same one Brendon used when Ryan talked about making out with guys.. "But I'm glad you told me." He's smiling when he pulls away, and he helps Spencer set the table.
***
He's not sure what to expect at first, after dinner and a few rounds of video games. His stomach is still jumping from his conversation with Brendon, so much so that he doesn't notice when Jon gets up until the other man brushes his fingers over Spencer's neck, just along the hairline, as he leaves the room.
Spencer watches Brendon play one more round of Grand Theft Auto before he gets up too. He doesn't excuse himself, but he can feel Ryan watching him as he leaves. It makes his neck heat up.
Jon's sitting on the edge of the bed when Spencer gets there, camera loose in one hand. His sandals are forgotten, hair dried strange from swimming. "Um, I can wait in the hall while you change, if you want," he says.
Spencer pulls on the hem of his t-shirt and shakes his head. "I can use the bathroom." They've seen each other naked before, but there's something more in this. He doesn't want to strip down in front of Jon, especially when he's got a camera in his hand.
Spencer grabs a black camisole and the black boyshorts with the rouched sides, blue bows tied under the fabric. He doesn't usually wear them--his girls jeans are tight enough without unexplained bow marks, but they seem all right for this.
He locks the door going into Ryan's room before he changes, and then it's all sort of strangely clinical, like he's putting on a robe at the doctor's office instead of this, whatever he should call this, for Jon.
Spencer wipes his hands on one of the towels, before he picks up his old clothes and walks back into the bedroom. He doesn't ask if what he's got on is all right. Jon's eyes go wide, and then he smiles.
The overhead light is off, and Jon's got two reading lamps on his night stand. One of them probably, hopefully, came out of Jon's own room. Spencer doesn't want to ask if one of them belonged in Ryan's.
"How should I do this?" Spencer says. He sits on the bed as close to the headboard as he can, as far from Jon as he can get. He crosses his arms over his chest and waits. He's still out of sorts from the afternoon; sitting in the slightly too-cool room isn't making the nerves any easier to handle.
Jon stands and moves back. The light is behind Spencer, makes more shadows, and it's hard to see Jon's face. "Just move back into the light a little, and just... That's fine, what you're doing."
It's strange at first, to have Jon clicking the pictures and being the one to come closer and adjust the way he's sitting or the way his head is turned. Jon's fingers are dry and sweep over his skin in practiced, quick touches. Spencer leans into them more than he probably should, much more than he ever does at a real photo shoot, but Jon doesn't mention it.
"Hey," Jon says, and he comes closer and into the light. His eyes are on Spencer's face, but there's a sheen of something, and Spencer can feel the twist of it in his own stomach, the beginning of sweat on his arms. "Lean back against the pillow and just sort of--"
"Like this?" Spencer asks, and he grabs the headboard with one hand, wraps his fingers around a spoke. He doesn't look away from Jon, from the way Jon licks his lips and nods before he has the camera up again.
He's never been as good at posing for pictures as Brendon is, doesn't have the explosive personality that translates well onto film. He doesn't look down and away, doesn't act like he's ashamed or demure. He wants to be himself for this, if they're really doing it.
Spencer tries to look as honest as possible when Jon has him set in a pose, expression steady. He might be a touch flushed, but it is what it is. It's not like the girls' underwear hides anything, and there's no way Jon can miss that he's already half-hard and stretching the fabric.
Jon comes closer, slides on knee onto the bed for a better angle, and he pulls the camera down. "Maybe turn your head a little?" His voice is rough, coming from someplace deep in his throat, and he doesn't look back through the viewfinder when Spencer follows his direction, not until Spencer looks back at him with raised eyebrows.
He wants to ask, if this is what Jon planned, but he doesn't. He lets Jon take his arm down and push him gently until he's lying out on the bed and stretched out. The comforter has been tossed off, kicked off earlier in the shoot, and the sheets are crisp, clean white. He wants to know what it looks like, except that Jon rolls a bit of the camisole up to expose more of his stomach.
Spencer can't breathe and knows Jon can see, could feel if he would move his hand down just a bit further. The room is too hot, even with the fan running and cool mountain air rushing in through cracked windows. Jon keeps the camera up, though, still taking pictures.
One of his hands lingers on Spencer's legs, on the calf, and his fingers curl a little when Spencer breathes out through his mouth, shaky. Then Jon's on top of him, heavy and warm and Spencer can feel himself sinking into the mattress. Jon's thick fingers are in his hair before they kiss, open mouths and a little sloppy. His hands are already on Jon's shirt, trying to pull it up and over and out.
Jon breaks the kiss to help him, but then he's back, one of his legs between Spencer's, pressing just to this side too much. Spencer pushes on Jon, makes him move back, but Jon just readjusts and then Jon's teeth are on his throat. Spencer doesn't try to stop making noise, softs gasps but louder groans. Brendon and Ryan are downstairs, could be in the next room, and he can't even pretend to care.
"Fuck," Jon whispers with another press of his hips, and Spencer can feel him through heavy denim, the blunt, hard press of Jon's cock. He reaches down and palms him. He's too aware of everything, too hypersensitive to Jon's hands sliding under the camisole and then Jon's mouth at his throat, scratch of Jon's beard on his collar bone.
Spencer bucks his hips and pressed on Jon's stomach so Jon will roll over, and he can work at undoing Jon's fly, unbuckling the belt after because his hands are shaking. He can't tell if it's want or need or nerves, because it's now with Jon's hand stroking him firmly through soft cotton.
He gets Jon's jeans down far enough, just far enough that he can open his underwear and pull him out. He slides down Jon's denim clad legs and bucks his hips against Jon's knee before he takes Jon into his mouth.
Jon's hand is on the back of his neck, not pressing him into it but just holding, and he's saying things that don't make sense. Spencer licks around the head, the slit, with one hand wrapped around the base, moving in intervals when he can concentrate long enough. The other hand presses on Jon's hips to keep them down, and he presses harder than he needs to, wants bruises in the morning, something lasting, so this won't be some sort of fucked up thing that just happened.
"Spencer," Jon slurs, and it's all sort of mangled between the lisp and the rawness there. "Stop." Jon's hand is in his hair again, and he tugs on it, gentle at first and then harder.
He pulls back to glare, because he's never been that into hair pulling. Jon murmurs an apology and kisses him again. His hands are on Spencer's shoulders, thumbs digging in just under Spencer's collar bone. Spencer's not the only one that wants bruises in the morning.
"I wanna fuck you," Jon says, and it's the same sex-roughed voice. "Is that okay?" It doesn't quite sound like Jon, but it does. Spencer wonders how he managed to get through a year of knowing Jon without knowing he could sound like that.
"Yeah," he murmurs, hazy as he lets Jon push him back onto bed. The camisole gets discarded in the process, but Jon's whispering against his skin, a long line of words that starts with, "God, you have no idea what you look like, I've wanted to," and fades into a stream of nonsense.
When Jon's pushing the boyshorts down, slower than he needs to, slow enough to make Spencer whine high in his throat, Spencer gasps out, and his own voice seems destroyed, "Don't we need--" Jon's hand on his dick steals the words.
"I've got it covered," Jon says, and he pulls back from Spencer long enough to kick off the jeans, the underwear, and Spencer can see the small tube of lube and a foil package before Jon's rolling him over and licking the line of his spine.
Spencer's done this before, on tours, with techs and once with Siska, but it doesn't quite prepare him from the way Jon just licks into him like it's nothing. He makes a noise that the entire cabin and surrounding county had to hear.
He can't remember if he locked the bedroom door or not. He can't care, doesn't have the attention or the energy because then Jon's mouth is gone, and there's cool, slick fingers instead. There's the burn and then the feeling of full-almost, with his hips bucking on the crisp sheets that aren't clean anymore.
Spencer tries to count the fingers, but it's all sort of a blur, Jon's mouth on the base off his spine while he moves his hand, and then Jon's fingers pull out. Spencer's wound-tight and more than ready when Jon has himself slicked up and pushing inside. He scratches at the mattress in an effort to hold on, to grab something, while he adjusts and waits for the burn to die down, and his skin is too flushed, too warm already. When the burn dies, he has to roll his hips and try to fuck back against Jon.
Jon laughs, near his ear now, and he has one hand on Spencer's cock, wet with lube and tugging. The rhythm's wrecked to hell, but it's enough even without Jon's voice in his ear.
"Next time, I want to watch you," he says, voice low and somehow even, even though he's buried inside Spencer and Spencer can feel the way his hips are starting to go erratic, the tremors running through Jon's skin.
Spencer can only nod, gasping something that might be agreement, before he's coming onto Jon's hand and the sheets. He slumps against the bed, boneless, and Jon's hips are still moving. It's almost too fast, too much, but he's riding the wave of his orgasm still. Jon's other hand is firm on his hips, holding him steady, just before Jon groans and bears down, collapsing onto Spencer's back.
Jon pulls out and gets out of bed to toss out the condom, kicking the lube onto the floor and making a noise when he steps on it. Spencer laughs quietly. There's already a burn hole on one of the couches from Ryan, so it doesn't matter if their security deposit gets shot to hell now.
Spencer goes to roll out of bed, to a shower to wash some of the smell and sweat away. His movements are slow, drowsy like he's just woken up.
Jon climbs back into the bed and reaches out for Spencer, one hand on Spencer's hip. "Where are you going?"
"Shower," he murmurs but he's already inching back, closer to Jon.
Jon makes a sound that sounds like agreement. "Inaminute," he whispers against Spencer's shoulder, and Spencer relaxes against Jon with his eyes closed. He can wait a minute.
***
Ryan is at the dining room table when he comes down the next morning, leaving Jon alone in the room. Spencer's barely dressed, just a pair of pajama pants that probably aren't clean. He knows there are bruises on his shoulders, but he doesn't actually think about it until Ryan looks up from his coffee cup. Then his hands fly up and try to hide them.
Ryan rolls his eyes, though. "So, it's okay?" He scratches at the patchy growth on his skin. "Like, nothing's going to blow up?"
Spencer rubs his neck, fingers brushing over an hours old bruise. "I think we're okay." He can smell toaster pancakes, the really cheap blueberry kind that always remind him of cheap diner breakfasts from tour. "Pancakes?"
"Brendon's making them. It's just the toaster kind." Ryan offers a ghost of a smile over the lip of his coffee cup before he opens his laptop, fingers clicking a few keys. You know if he does anything stupid, I'll kick his ass." His tone is as light as Ryan’s voice ever is.
It makes Spencer smile, at the image of Ryan trying to take down Jon, but he slides down in his seat to kick Ryan's ankle mercilessly. "I don't need you to protect me, Ross. I weigh twice as much as you do when you’re soaking wet in a parka."
"Right. That's why you can still fit in your girlie jeans." Ryan manages to catch one of Spencer's feet and presses his thumbnail into the soft sole.
Spencer does not squeak, but he makes a rather undignified sound before wrenching his foot away.
Brendon sticks his head out of the kitchen then, and he smiles at Spencer, as wide as ever. "So, where's Jon?" There's something warming his tone, and he knows that the mocking is coming. "Did you wear out our Jon Walker? We need a bassist, remember?"
"I want pancakes," Spencer says. His face feels too warm, and he debates chucking one of the books on the table at Brendon's head. Something in his chest eases, though, to see that too-big grin on Brendon's face.
"Pancakes are good," Jon says from the top of the stairs, and Spencer wants to sink lower in his chair from the absolutely evil smile that Ryan shoots Brendon. Ryan almost never smiles like that.
He wants to warn Jon, to go back to bed and abandon all hope of leaving the room today. It's not like they can't avoid Brendon and Ryan forever. They'll have to sleep sometime, and they're small and fit easily into closets.
It's too late, though, because Jon pads down the stairs in a pair of boxers and a t-shirt that looks borrowed. He's got tiny bruises on his neck too, and he kisses Spencer, morning breath and all, before he slides into his chair.
Spencer's absolute-best-friend-since-he-was-five is an asshole because he spreads his hands out on the table and deadpans, "I think there's going to be a rule against bus sex, because my delicate sensibilities have been violated." He shakes his head.
"Seriously," Brendon comes out of the kitchen with a massive plate of blueberry pancakes that he puts down with a loud thump. "Like I'm happy for you, but you're not allowed to complain ever again about me being loud."
Spencer looks over at Jon, halfway between blushing and smug. Jon's smiling though, and his hand brushes Spencer's when he reaches out for pancakes. He feels stupid, like he's grinning too wide for a good fuck and some frottage in the shower.
"We could have sex in the practice room, if you'd like." It's mostly soundproofed, even though they're miles from where anyone could be bothered by his drums or the loud screech of guitars.
Ryan actually pales at that. "I think that should be a rule, too. No bus sex and no sex where I might sit down in something gross." Spencer balls up his napkin and tosses it at Ryan's head.
"Like you never had sex with Jac in Brendon's bunk," he says, giving Brendon a smug little smile. It's a lie, but Brendon starts flailing as expected, screeching about betrayal. He'll tell Brendon the truth later, just so Brendon doesn't actually go and do something gross, like jack off with one of Ryan's scarves.
Jon leans against Spencer's shoulder, and he tips his head against Jon's. There will have to be talking, at some point, and it probably should have happened before they took the pictures. He's okay with a week from now, maybe a month. Right now, things are new and shiny, and he fell asleep with Jon curled around him.
"...but the really important thing is, Walker-" Brendon's apparently over being scandalized and is still talking. Spencer's not surprised. He’s heard Brendon talk in his sleep before, "-is you have to treat Spencer like a lady and buy him pretty flowers and dresses and things." Then his eyes go wide, suddenly realizing what he’s said, and he looks at Spencer with his bottom lip caught between his teeth.
Spencer stares back at him, straightening his back, and Ryan, because Ryan still notices everything, puts down his coffee mug.
"Girl stuff," Jon says, carefully. He's looking between the two of them, Spencer and Brendon, and Spencer knows that Jon isn't fooled by the way he pauses before he clarifies. "Like jewelry and sexy negligees and shit."
"Yes," Brendon says before he slumps into his chair, grabbing a pancake off the plate. His lips are quirking, like he wants to smile at his jab, but he's not sure if he should. "Exactly like that. It's conducive to getting laid, and that's always important."
Spencer starts to smile before he looks up at the table, at the three people that probably know more about him than is really healthy, and he's almost laughing as he adds, "Brendon's right, Jon. I need to be wooed before I'll let you besmirch my virtue, uh, again." He watches Ryan, the way his eyes go wide and nose crinkles. He almost looks pale, maybe a little green, and his eyes flick to Jon. Spencer gets it, though. Hearing Ryan having sex with Keltie would be almost as gross as parent-sex.
Brendon's already giggling, nervous and high, and Spencer starts to laugh with him two beats before Jon joins in.
It's harder to avoid Jon when they're flying across the Atlantic Ocean. He's been pretending not to notice Jon, not notice the way Jon sort of watches him with strange eyes that he never gives anyone else. It makes his stomach turn, but it's more like throwing up now. He did that to Jon.
Except when they're flying towards Europe and Ryan and Brendon are asleep in their seats, Jon sits down next to him. There's nowhere to run, no curtains or phone calls to Haley.
Spencer wonders, absently, if throwing up his plane food on Jon's bare feet would make Jon move, but that seems more like Brendon's style. He settles for looking impassive and possibly bitchy. Jon's wearing fucking body spray again. It smells like candy, and Spencer hates him for it because he wants to taste it.
"Okay," Jon says, and he puts his hand on Spencer's arm. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm not going to tell anyone, and it's cool, Spencer."
His mouth feels a little dry because Jon's still giving him that look, sort of sly and soft at the edges. Close up, it looks nothing like disgust or anger or a thousand other things that he maybe thought it was. It warms the bottom of his stomach.
Jon squeezes his arm before he takes his hand away. "You're cool, Spencer," he says. His lisp trips over the soft 'c,' and Spencer smiles back at him. They make fun of the in-flight movie, pressed together and laughing.
***
Spencer waits until after the VMAs to tell Haley that he can't do it. He takes her to the awards mostly because he wants her to have a chance to say that she got to do something cool as the girlfriend of a rockstar. He still wants to be her friend, even if she cries into her hands when he tells her that he knows this isn't working. He hates the way her eyes go red and the way she looks at him with trembling lips to ask, "What isn't working?"
He wants to lie again, but he can't. "I'm not the right person for you. I can't tell you everything, and I want you to have better." He doesn't know if he loves her, but it hurts to see her like this. He wants to hug her because she's always cold, and her shoulders are shaking worse than ever now. He's not sure if he should offer his hoodie. She knows its one of his favorites, and she's the one who bought it for him. The tag said it was cantaloupe-colored, and there's a panda on one of the pockets.
"But I love you," she whispers. Her voice is high and girlish from crying, and he can feel the age difference now, eighteen months stretching out into something obscene.
He closes his eyes and wishes she'd start yelling, just so he'd have a reason to finally walk out of her living room and maybe delete her number from his Sidekick.
***
Ryan makes him soup when he comes back, after. Ryan makes soup now--and grilled cheese. There would have been grilled cheese, too, because Ryan's proud of his culinary skills, but there's no bread to be found.
He doesn't tell Ryan how it went, and Ryan doesn't ask. He ends up leaving the cantaloupe-panda hoodie with Haley, just to stop the tremors in her hands because he can't make her stop crying. He's shivering, too, and Ryan's hoodies are all too small. There's one of Jon's hanging over the back of a chair, but he won't put it on.
"I don't know what I'm going to do, Ry," he says, when his limbs are heavy from what could be regret but feels a lot like relief. "She was perfect."
"No one does, and no one is," Ryan says, and he kisses Spencer's forehead like he's five and needs mom-type comfort. He falls asleep after only half a bowl of chicken and stars soup.
***
After the New Year's show, Spencer has a hotel room to himself. He and Brendon were supposed to share, as single and newly-single, but Brendon found someone else to spend the night with, so Spencer's alone. It's rare enough that he stretches out on the too-big bed and wiggles his fingers and toes until he's sure that he's rolled over every edge. He takes an honest-to-god bubble bath that leaves him smelling like mint and some sort of flower, and he wears one of the camisoles that usually gets tossed into the corner of his duffel, just to watch bad sci-fi movies.
It's perfect and relaxing, which means of course Jon has to come in at a little past four and fuck everything to hell. He uses a key to get in, and Spencer jolts out of a half-sleep to scramble under his comforter.
Jon crawls on top of the comforter and lays down. He looks older than twenty-one in the dark shadows. "Ryan gave me the key to your room," he says, and he immediately knows why Ryan sent Jon here. Spencer can smell beer and something sharper. He doesn't know alcohol by smell, not like Ryan does, but he knows enough to know that something's wrong.
"Okay," he says, and he moves to grab his bag. There's an oversized t-shirt in it, long enough to cover the camisole and the underwear.
"Spence," Jon says, pushing up onto his elbows. "Seriously, you're ruining my morose cuddle here."
Spencer rolls his eyes and tries to get out of bed with the t-shirt against his body. The straps of the cami are still obvious, and he sort of thinks that this is a scene from an old movie, when the embarrassed heroine is trying to hide the fact that she's only in her bra. He doesn't know what that makes Jon.
"Spencer," Jon says again, and he gets off the bed and comes close enough that Spencer could count his eyelashes. He puts his hands on the t-shirt and pulls until Spencer lets it go, hard enough that Spencer stumbles just a little, and then the fabric is pooled around their feet.
His throat is tight when Jon looks at him. He's a little taller than Jon now, just barely noticeable that he has to look down at Jon's eyes. His fingers are shaking, and he wonders if he looks as awkward and gangly as he feels now, all boy limbs in girl's clothing.
No one's actually looked at him when he's dressed like this, and he waits for Jon to look at him like there's something wrong with the camisole or the fact that there are multicolored snowflakes on his panties instead of plaid on his boxers.
Instead, Jon steps back and gives him that same look, and when he rolls his eyes up to Spencer, there's almost heat in his smile. Spencer has to look away. He lays back down on the bed, and Jon tucks himself beside him. They watch the end of some shitty vampire movie with Eddie Murphy and don't talk about why Jon's there instead of in his room with Cassie.
***
They wake up the next morning, and Jon acts like nothing's changed, sliding on his flipflops and shuffling out in search of his girlfriend. Spencer gets dressed and makes it to the lobby first, sunglasses over his eyes because he doesn't want to look at Ryan's stupid smiles and Keltie's hands tucked around Ryan's arm. He's not jealous. He just wants and wishes he hadn't broken up with Haley.
He doesn't, though, not really. Spencer can smell alcohol on his skin, just from sleeping in the same bed, when Jon started to sweat it out. It's sour and not-really-great. He can't get the look on Jon's face out of his head, even if Jon was wasted and upset. It was still there, something that still makes Spencer's tongue feel like sandpaper.
Jon comes down next with Cassie, and there's a foot of space between them. "Hi," Jon says, and he's looking directly at Ryan. Spencer closes his eyes and wills for Brendon to get his ass into the lobby, so they can go out into the cold and put this whole weekend behind them.
***
Jon's the one who avoids him now, and it's easier because Jon goes back to Chicago for their break, after giving Spencer a hug that lasted maybe a half-second too long in the airport. He doesn't respond to the seven text messages that Spencer sends. He doesn't call or email pictures of Dylan. Spencer has to see the newest photos on Ryan's laptop, and he wants to email Jon and bitch him out for it.
He doesn't, though. He just lets Jon slip away and hangs out with Ryan as much as possible. He doesn't know what's going on, and if that's what Jon wants, he can pretend that it doesn't bother him. Spencer tells himself that until the words don't actually mean anything. Jon'll come back, and they'll go to the cabin, and everything will be normal.
There are other things he can try to distract himself with, like real estate. He buys a house and buys chaise lounges and couches to fill it. He buys mirrors and sets them against the walls so he can walk past them in any outfit he wants.
Spencer dresses slowly in front of the bedroom mirror, watching silk slide over his shoulders and then up his legs. The bedroom isn't finished, the first layer of primer rolled over hideously green walls. There are tarps on the ground, and he knows that he'll have to take the mirror out of the room in the morning for the decorators.
He sits in front of the mirror and wonders what he's supposed to see when he looks at his reflection. It's normal to him, to dress like this before layering junior's jeans and t-shirts over top, but he knows that he's going to have to stop, at least part way. The jeans are getting too short, and there isn't enough room in the shoulders of the shirts. He's not built tiny like Brendon. He wears men's clothes sometimes, over the panties, and it still looks like him, especially when he smiles.
Three weeks before they're supposed to go to the cabin, Brendon comes by with his glasses on and hands tucked into his back pockets. Spencer throws an old t-shirt and sweatpants on before he lets him in. Brendon's the only one left who doesn't look at him and just knows. He doesn't worry about what Brendon thinks when they're talking about music, movies, or whether or not Ryan smells like cheese.
"You want anything?" Spencer asks. There's no carpet in the house yet, except in his bedroom. Brendon's tennis shoes are squeaking on the hard wood.
Brendon shakes his head and bounces on the balls of his feet. "No, I'm all right." He bounces three more times, licking his lips while his eyes dart around the house. "So, Jon broke up with Cassie, and I'm not supposed to tell you." He manages to make himself still, and there are questions in his dark eyes.
Spencer just blinks at Brendon. "You came over here to tell me that." He crosses his arms. "Instead of picking up the phone." He doesn't ask why he's not supposed to know, or why Jon couldn't tell him himself. His heart stutters in his chest a little, but he's not going to attach meaning to it.
"Yeah, yeah," Brendon says and scratches his head. "Maybe I missed you, too. You've been all mopey since we got back from New York." He pokes Spencer's arm with a soft smile. "Some of us might be worried."
Spencer rolls his eyes because he's been out of the house every day from eight until four, when the decorators are supposed to leave. He's been over Ryan's, his parent's, the park where he tried to skateboard as a kid. He's been to the mall and a hundred different music stores. There are three half-assembled kits in his garage because he parks his car in the driveway.
"I've been around," he says and tries not to wince because he has been avoiding Brendon in favor of hanging out in his house that always smells like spackle and fresh paint to commune with the mirrors.
Brendon looks at his feet, and when he looks up, he's serious again, face smooth and mouth pressed into a line. His eyes remind Spencer of his sisters, when they first learned that the Easter Bunny was a fraud. "So, if there was something going on, between you and Jon, you'd tell the rest of us, right?"
Spencer wants to laugh, but there's something in the way that Brendon says it that makes him stop. "There's nothing to tell," he says instead, smiling at Brendon's defeated posture and sad eyes. "And I'd tell you because it would affect the band, dumbass."
"Oh," Brendon says and shakes his head like he's been an idiot. "Duh. We should go out for pizza and then eat it obnoxiously on Ryan's lawn." Brendon bounces again. "He didn't open his door when I came over, and I think he might have died."
"And eating pizza will make him rise from the dead?" Spencer's rolling his eyes, but he heads back to his disassembled bedroom to find real clothes and possibly shoes.
***
When they hit the cabin, they all have their own rooms. Spencer sets up his bags and unpacks, glad for the privacy. He would have roomed with Ryan, but Ryan wanted thinking space. When he gets into the guitarist's room, he winces, as "thinking space" apparently means "huge fucking mess." Ryan has three guitar cases thrown around, and his suitcases are frothing clothes on the floor already. They've maybe been at the cabin for an hour.
He sits down on Ryan's unmade bed. The sheets are kicked over towards the dresser. "Jon knows," he says as soon as Ryan comes back into the room from shoving his toothpaste and shampoo into the bathroom that he and Spencer are going to share.
Ryan goes still. "You're sure he knows?" His voice is careful, more guarded that Spencer remembers Ryan ever using with him. It's a flash from the time before, the way he talked to Brendon before Brendon got down on the floor and did his Gollum impression. It's the way Ryan talks to people he doesn't know if he can trust or wants to trust. It makes Spencer's skin feel tight, that Ryan would ever look at him like that.
Spencer throws a pillow at him. "He pantsed me, and..." He waves a hand in the air.
"When?" Ryan sits down near him, stretching out on the bed. There's a foot of space between them.
"Awhile ago, on the bus. It was an accident." Spencer scrubs his hand over his face. He needs to shave, badly. He's not used to being able to scratch his fingers on his own chin, but none of them are really worrying about it here. Even Ryan's started growing patchy stubble.
Ryan sighs and follows the geometric designs on his pillowcase with his finger "So he's not weirded out by it?"
Spencer looks at him with both eyebrows raised. "Not really. He's actually sort of..." He doesn't know the word for it. He wants to say more accepting, possibly more than Ryan is, but that wouldn't help the carefulness in Ryan's words and the way his eyes are flinching, ready for the blow.
He realizes in a jolt where he saw the look last, just before Spencer took his Sidekick into the back of the bus and called Brent, and reaches over. He squeezes Ryan's hand. "He's not going to leave the band because of it. Jon's not like that."
Ryan laughs, too soft and shallow. "Okay." He doesn't believe Spencer, and they both know it.
They stay like that, hands joined, until Brendon barrels in and tells them that he is going to make English muffin pizzas, right then. Spencer goes with him to make sure that the cabin doesn't burn down.
***
They all drink at the cabin. Jon's twenty-one, he can buy alcohol, and there isn't much to do until Ryan has the feel for the album ready. Even Ryan takes a few beer bottles into his room when he's hiding with his notebooks.
Really, they all drink a little too much, enough that Brendon sings along with reruns of Barney in a way that's probably going to fuck up his voice, and Jon joins in. Spencer takes his beer onto the roof, climbing up through Brendon's room, and he drinks up there.
On the roof, he can almost see Vegas, the haze of lights that seem to peak out behind the mountains when he stands up. It occurs to him after his fourth or fifth Corona that perhaps going on the roof was a bad idea. His vision is just starting to swim, and he probably shouldn't be swinging down into any windows. It's very hard to play the drums with a broken leg or worse.
Spencer stretches out and waits. He can still hear Brendon singing, and he opens his mouth to sing along. Except that he doesn't, because Jon's there suddenly. He hasn't talked to Jon outside of band meetings and the occasional shared eye-roll (which counts as talking, now that his head is swimming and his limbs feel loose), but Jon's there now.
Jon's got his hand on Spencer's arm. "You shouldn't be up here," he says. His voice is warm, and Spencer leans toward it because he's cold, on the roof in the middle of the mountains in a washed-thin t-shirt.
"I like it up here. It's quiet." He doesn't want to lean in and smell Jon's neck, but he does. He does, and he does it. Jon just smells like Jon, beer and weed and maybe the smell that's supposed to be Jon underneath all of that.
Jon pushes on his shoulders, and Spencer can't read his face. "Spence," he says, and there's something in his voice, something different and deeper. Spencer shivers and doesn't care if Jon notices. "We need to get you off of here." He doesn't move and doesn't take his hands away.
Spencer smiles at him, looking up because Jon's on his knees and Spencer's still sort of sprawled out. He's usually better about this, more responsible and less relaxed, but he likes relaxing in front of Jon. "You're drunk too," he says like this is a great secret of the universe. He leans against Jon's legs because Jon is warm.
"Not as bad as you." Jon's hands move, running over Spencer's arms. He doesn't take them away, and Spencer's warmer than he was before, warmer than he should be on just beer.
He looks up at Jon again, and, with the backyard lights on and the moon, he thinks that maybe he sees that look again. Spencer likes that look, enough to tip his face up to Jon's and bring their mouths together. It's too hard, teeth clicking against each other. Jon moves onto his hands onto Spencer's neck and bites at Spencer's lower lip.
Jon tastes almost the same way he smells, except that there's something sweeter there, like he had candy in the past hour and hasn't brushed it out of his mouth yet. Spencer is determined to find out what it is, pushing his tongue against Jon's to get a much better idea.
Their positioning is awkward, Spencer twisted up and Jon trying to balance on his knees. Jon doesn't climb on top of him though, and Spencer doesn't sit up properly. He grips at Jon, holding onto his t-shirt. If he was sober, he'd recognize that this is going to be hell on his back. But he's not sober, just pressing himself against Jon. Jon's hands are on his hips, dipping below his waistband. His fingernails press the lace against Spencer's skin, hard enough to imprint the skin.
It's Jon who pulls away first, pulls his hands back, breathing hard and eyes wide. He moves his hands onto Spencer's shoulders before he stands up. "No, Spencer," he says, like he didn't have his tongue down Spencer's throat thirty-seconds before.
Spencer doesn't take Jon's hand when it's offered. His skin is flushed, hot in new ways that have nothing to do with the tightness of his jeans. "No," he says back to Jon, parroting because he can still taste Jon. The sweetness is probably syrup, maybe chocolate. It's hard to tell, and it's already fading off his tongue.
Jon looks out at the mountains. "We need to get you off the roof, Spence. Come on."
He doesn't want to stand, and he doesn't want help from Jon. There's the childish impulse to cross his arms over his chest and stay right where he is, thank you very much, but then he'd have to listen to Ryan bitch about driving him to the hospital as Ryan's probably the only one sober enough to do it. Spencer's starting to come down, enough to know that there's something strained in Jon's half-shadowed smile.
Jon helps him down, though, and when Spencer's shirt rides up and Jon's thumbs press against his heated skin, neither of them mention it. Spencer might, however, slam his bedroom door when he goes to bed.
***
His hangover the next day would be much more enjoyable if he could forget as he pads into the kitchen for water. Brendon's already there, slumped over a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and looking like someone beat him over the head. Spencer looks at the cereal and the open jug of milk that's still sitting out.
Spencer opens the package of bagels instead, throwing one into the toaster.
"I think that if, like, the Elders would tell you how shitty you feel after drinking too much instead of being all sins, they'd have a lot less of us sneaking out and getting high behind sheds," Brendon mumbles around his cereal.
Spencer nods and closes his eyes. The kitchen is too bright, and he wants to go back to bed. It's well after noon, but he feels like he hasn't slept at all. He keeps seeing the roof, the "no" and the way Jon's hands snapped back.
He's concentrating on forgetting all of that when Jon actually comes into the kitchen, and it's sort of unpleasant to open his eyes, just as the bagel pops up, and see him there. Spencer needs sunglasses, like the ones Ryan has fallen in love with that make him look like a jackass. Jackass is just about the right speed for being this hung over this early in the morning.
He picks his bagel out of the toaster and sits down next to Brendon without looking back at Jon.
Brendon stops chewing his cereal. Spencer can look at him, and he regrets when he does. Brendon's sort of looking back and forth between them, eyes cartoonishly wide. He raises his eyebrows at Spencer, and he knows that Brendon's trying to ask him something. It's unfortunate, because even on his best days, Spencer can't get Brendon's eyebrow-talk like he can Ryan's.
Jon clears his throat. "Hey, Brendon?" It's the same soft voice that said no, only it's smoother now. The bastard's probably not even all that hung over. "Can you give me and Spencer a minute?"
Spencer moves to get up and leave his breakfast. He's going back to bed. It's too early for this shit. "Don't worry about it, Urie. I'm going back to bed."
And Brendon, because he is a traitor, gets up faster. He puts his hand on Spencer's arm. "No, it's cool. I'm gonna go and see what's up." He grins despite the dark circles under his eyes. "Ryan should be up." He's out of the kitchen before Spencer can tell him to knock that shit the fuck off.
He picks at the dry bagel. It's started to get cold, and it's sort of tasteless. "What do you want, Walker?"
Jon sits down at the table, and Spencer glares up at him. He looks normal, sleep rumbled with lines on his face from the pillow case. "So about last night."
"Yeah, no," Spencer snaps. He pushes back from the table again. "I'm not going to talk about that with you." He's not going let Jon make him feel like a freak or that it's wrong. His hands might be shaking, but he presses his palms flat so Jon can't tell.
"We don't have to talk," Jon says, and he reaches across the table. He doesn't touch Spencer's hand, but his fingers are close. "I just wanted to make sure you didn't get the wrong idea."
He bites his tongue on a thousand snappish remarks and raises his eyebrows. He leans back in his chair and pulls his hands back, crossing his arms over his chest.
Jon's shoulders droop. "It's just. I don't think it's a good idea--"
There are some days when Spencer's really glad that he's the youngest member of the band, because he can do things like leave the room when someone's talking to him. He only does it with the band, and it's usually a joke. It's because he's immature, you see, because he's nineteen and it just seems like a really good idea to leave because he's going to deck Jon Walker. His head aches, and he just wants this all to be forgotten. They should have gotten high before they started drinking. Spencer always forgets everything that way.
Usually, though, he doesn't have Jon come after him and grab onto his wrist hard enough to bruise. "You have to let me finish," Jon says, and he doesn't let up on the pressure.
He crowds Spencer back against the wall, where Ryan or Brendon could come down and see. "Spencer," Jon says, voice low and rough. "I don't want to fuck up things up because we were drunk. The band doesn't need us making drama over something stupid." He's close enough that Spencer can smell his cinnamon toothpaste. The same look is on Jon's face, and his free hand moves onto Spencer's hip, holding him there. "All right?"
Spencer nods, and Jon lets him go. He can't look away from Jon's face, the way his eyes seem dark in the afternoon sunshine that's screaming in through uncovered windows. Spencer still wants the sun to go behind clouds and hide for another few hours, but he doesn't want to miss that look. Spencer licks his lips, and Jon follows the movement.
"Something stupid?" he says. If his voice is a little deeper than it needs to be, he's not doing it on purpose.
"Something that could be stupid if we're wasted and don't mean it." Jon steps back, and Spencer moves forward. Jon bites his lips down on a smile.
"If we're sober?"
Jon's smile grows, and he shrugs. His smile is a tell, though. He doesn't answer Spencer.
He can hear Ryan squawking upstairs, and he knows that Brendon's gotten him up and out of bed. There's no chance to go back to sleep now.
"I need aspirin," Spencer says, and Jon lets him take the out.
***
It's sort of like an awkward dance. Jon doesn't crowd him, and they don't spend time alone together. They never sit next to each other to watch movies, but there are always moments where their eyes meet. Then Jon smiles at him, just enough to be predatory. Spencer's eyes go wide, and sometimes, he backs up, like Jon's something that could eat him. Sometimes, though, he gives the smile back, pressing his shoulder against Jon's when he passes him in a hallway.
Except that Jon knows, and when Spencer wonders what it would be like, to have Jon leaning over him or pressed under him and to have that knowledge there, to have Jon's hand pressed against him, with just soft lace between their skin.
His fingers twitch at the thought. He's not sure what makes his throat tight, want or fear. In his daydreams, Jon usually pulls the panties off quickly and never looks, averts his eyes until it's over.
Brendon takes Ryan with him to go and restock the kitchen, and Spencer knows Jon put him up to it by the way Brendon tries to give Spencer subtle looks at Jon, nodding his head and widening his eyes. He doesn't know what it's supposed to mean, but he pulls on boxer shorts under his jeans after his shower.
Jon's got the X-Box going, bare feet against the coffee table. He's playing one of the racing games, and Spencer tries not to roll his eyes. He hates racing games.
Except that Jon looks up when he comes in, and he pauses the game and sets the controller down a little too quickly "Hey," he says.
Spencer shifts uncomfortably. He's never been terribly smooth at this part. Even with Haley, it was more about getting to the hotel room and then staring blankly until she took the initiative and pulled him down on top of her. Now he's standing next to the couch, and Jon's just looking at him.
"Hey," he says back. He rests his hip against the couch's arm.
Jon smiles. "Brendon and Ryan are going to be back in an hour or so. Brendon made sure that I knew about it." He's laughing, Spencer knows.
Spencer smiles, stomach twisted. He wishes that it would just happen, just start. "Yeah, me too." He wipes his hands on his jeans. "I think he suspects something."
"He might," Jon says, and then he leans up and kisses Spencer. It's gentle and soft, and Spencer has to balance with one hand on the back of the couch.
Jon laughs against his mouth and pulls him down, so Spencer is sprawled across him. Jon is warm, warmer than Spencer thought he would be and his mouth is on Spencer's throat, beard scratching at the skin. There's no real preamble, just Jon rocking his hips lazily up against Spencer's and Spencer pressing his fingers against Jon's shoulders and chest.
Jon rolls them onto the floor, and they're cramped between the furniture, barely enough room to move. They could both move push on the formica table and get it out of the way, but they don't. Jon's on top of him, and he's heavier than Spencer thought he would be, heavy enough that Spencer almost feels pinned. He bites at Jon's jaw as he pushes Jon's t-shirt up.
"We're probably supposed to go to one of our rooms, in Brendon's master plan," Jon says, and he has Spencer's shirt up too, rolled around his chest, and then he pulls it off completely. He keeps talking against Spencer's skin, but he can't hear it, just feel the vibrations and the scrape of Jon's beard against his nipples, stomach.
He tries to agree, but the words get lost somewhere. He can't really concentrate on Brendon right now, doesn't want to think about anything except the way Jon's hands are on his hips and undoing his belt.
Jon gets his jeans open, and then he stops. "Spencer," he says, and it's different. The breathlessness is still there, but the roughness is gone. He sounds almost sad.
Spencer sits up a little, and Jon's knees are on either side of his legs. Jon's not moving though, and he's rolling his shirt down. "What?" The fly of his jeans are still open, and he can see the press of himself against the boxer fabric.
Jon leans over and kisses him in a way that doesn't feel like a promise or an invitation. It feels like an apology. "This should be real, if we're going to do this." he says, like Spencer's supposed to get it.
He crosses his arms over his chest. "It's not."
"I don't want you to pretend, okay?" Jon leans down to kiss him again, the same sort of apologetic bullshit that's starting to piss Spencer off. "I know that you don't--"
Spencer pulls back and lets out a hissing breath. He wants to give Jon an explanation, and he can't without feeling like a freak. He doesn't let himself feel like that anymore, because he knows that he's not.
He knows a hundred things about himself, like that he's got nice eyes and he's actually sort of handsome. He knows, but there's something about showing himself to Jon like that, at that moment where everything's sort of without pretense and all instinct, that makes him want to hide behind ugly plaids. "It's all right," he says. "It's weird."
Jon shakes his head, and he bites at Spencer's mouth this time, catches his bottom lip between his teeth and tugs. "It's not like that, Spence," he says when he's pulled back. Jon's eyes are warm and dark brown. "I just... you look." He waves his hand.
"I liked you before," Jon says, after a long stretch of silence because Spencer is not going to talk. His entire mouth locks up, freezes, and he doesn't know what to say. "It's more than just, like, girl's underwear, but..." He kisses Spencer again, and it's all tongue and teeth, dominating, until he pulls back and whispers, against Spencer's mouth, "Let me take your picture."
Spencer stills and pushes Jon away with both hands. There's a thousand things that could go wrong, just within the four of them. Then there's the internet, their friends, a thousand chances to get fucked over and splashed on the pages of Star. They're not really that famous, but he thinks that if pictures surface of him in boyshorts, the magazines might make an exception.
"Jon," he says, finally, and he drags out his name in preparation for an apology. He frowns hard enough to make his face wrinkle.
"Think about it." Jon gets off the floor and unpauses the game.
***
The problem is that now Spencer can't think about anything else. He thinks about it when he's supposed to be coming up with the drum part for the snatch of melody Ryan's given up. He and Brendon sit next to his drum set, and they both take turns trying something. He can't hear Brendon's ideas because he remembers Jon's hands on his stomach, and all the parts he makes up sound the same.
Ryan corners him after dinner that night, in his Ryan way of opening his bedroom door without knocking. "You're acting weird," he says. Ryan has worn a vest made from fake flowers and used an entire pot of MAC eyeshadow on his face. Spencer raises his eyebrows and doesn't say anything. "And I want to know what's up."
Spencer looked back up at the ceiling. "On a scale of one to ten, how dumb is it," he almost says the picture thing, almost, but, for a former Livejournal camerawhore, Ryan was too obsessed with their image not to call out a ten, "would it be for me and Jon to..." He lets the question trail off.
Ryan makes a long hissing breath, and he folds his limbs up. He's not surprised, though, just serious and considering. They haven't talked about Jon before, but it's comforting to know that Ryan knew--and slightly more comforting to know that Ryan didn't need to confront him about it.
"I think," Ryan starts but then shakes his head, "it's not a great idea, but it's not like. It happens, and I don't want your weird sexual frustration breaking up the band, either. And then Brendon could shut up about his plans to hook you two up." He gives a ghost of a smile. "And it's not like we're talking about dating, right?"
There would be something nice in that, in dating Jon, but he just kicks Ryan's ankle lightly. "Yeah, not so much looking into civil unions."
"Good, because I'm not going to Vermont. It's fucking cold there." Ryan lays down next to Spencer. There is ink on his hands, and he has blue smudges on his t-shirt. "And I'm not looking forward to seeing you in a wedding dress."
Spencer uses two hands to push Ryan off the bed.
***
When he decides that it's all right, that he's going to do it, he takes one of the disposable razors out of the bathroom and shaves his legs. He's done it before, a few times, before he decided the maintenance was too much and he could just let them go hairy. He's also had more chances to read Cosmo in shitty dressing rooms than most men, and he knows how he's supposed to do it, pull up from the ankle and watch around the knees. Spencer still manages to cut himself twice on the left leg and once on the right. It feels weird, to use his shaving cream that probably isn't formulated for legs and take the hair off.
His legs always look paler when he's down, and he runs his hands over them before he throws the razor out. "Okay," he says to himself, and his voice sounds mostly sure.
They go swimming that afternoon, Ryan refusing to budge from his lawn chair even with a hat and 50 SPF sunblock and Brendon doing cannon balls off the dock to try and splash Ryan. Spencer sits on the shore, toes in the water because it's a lake and he won't swim alone in anything that is not made of concrete and heavily chlorinated. He only laughs half-heartedly at Brendon's antics because he needs to talk to Jon. He can't concentrate on anything else.
Jon, predictably, is off taking pictures. He waved to the three of them with blue zinc-oxide on his nose before venturing off to photograph flowers and rocks with his camera, anything that strikes his fancy. He says this to Spencer, with a dark little smile. The memory sort of warms Spencer's limbs more than the sun can. He covers his smile with one hand.
Of course, it's Brendon who notices first, when he's coming out onto the beach. "Dude, you shave your legs?" he says before flopping down next to Spencer. He's just laying on rocks and dirty sand. The towels are over next to Ryan, and Brendon's not stupid enough to go over there, not yet.
Spencer doesn't blush, not exactly, but he's fair and the sun's out in full force. No one's going to notice. "Sometimes," he answers, voice even. He gives Brendon a look out of the corner of his eye.
Brendon squints into the sun to look at him. "You're kind of weird, Spencer Smith." He's grinning though, and Spencer smiles back.
Ryan's swathed in a terry cover-up that probably came from the women's swimwear section, and Jon's blue nose. There are purple lightning bolts on Brendon's orange swim trunks. "Yeah, but you guys couldn't have me if I wasn't."
Brendon grins again and leans closer to Spencer. "When Jon comes back, do you think the three of us could dump Ryan into the water?" He's whispering, like Ryan can hear him from twenty feet away.
Spencer looks at Ryan, whose reading some thick book that looks impossibly boring and tries not to smile. "We could probably do it without him." Spencer can lift Ryan now, and it's not that far to the water. It's probably a bad thing to do to one's best friend, but Ryan would do it to Spencer, if he didn't weigh twenty pounds and have the upper body strength of a kitten.
It doesn't matter, because he can hear Jon's flipflops coming down the path. Brendon hears it too, and his grin just goes wider. He's not sure how he never noticed that Brendon was sort of evil before. "Jon Walker, the man we need," Brendon says.
Jon comes close enough that his knee can brush Spencer's arm when he crouches down. "What's up?"
"We're dunking Ryan. You're going to help us." Brendon stands up, and there are rocks stuck along his back, like he's suddenly half-reptile.
When Brendon's back is turned, Spencer taps Jon's shoulder. "Tonight," he says, meeting Jon's steady gaze.
Jon stills. "All right. Your room?" He holds his hand out to help Spencer up.
He takes it. "Yeah," he says. He squeezes Jon's hand before they catch up to Brendon.
***
Spencer's okay with the eventuality of the night until it's almost five in the afternoon and he's supposed to be making dinner. It all sort of crashes down while he's throwing a pot of water on the stove to boil. (He's not the best cook, but Brendon can really only order take out and make salads, and Ryan only does soups and grilled cheese. Jon can actually make real food, but it isn’t his night to cook for another three days.)
He stands in front of the stove and stare down into the silver bottom of the pot. He can hear Jon and Ryan messing around in the studio, too many guitars going at once, and there's a chance that they are going to fuck this up, before they fix whatever else is wrong. The music isn’t gelling, and they're only going to add another layer of too-thick tension.
Somewhere, in all of this, he forgot about the album that they're all fighting to make. It's sort of a pipe-dream now, as hopeless as getting discovered was when they first started. He knows they've already had their lightening strike, and he doesn't want to be the one to make things go wrong, especially if he thinks it's going to be as weird as he thinks it is.
He turns away from the pot to go and to tell Jon that this is a bad idea, that they need to really think about this. The air is too thin in the mountains, and he thinks it makes it harder for any of them to think straight. There’s no way they can tell if this’ll change everything for the worse, because it’s just the four of them here, without the drama and the press.
But then Brendon's in the doorway, eyebrows high. "Didn't your mom ever tell you about watched pots?" he says, lips quirked into what Spencer knows will become a real smile soon.
Spencer rolls his eyes and wipes his palms on the thighs of his jeans. "I was thinking," he says, and then stops. The water is going to boil soon, watched or no, and he needs to find the pasta and then pull the frozen vegetables out of the freezer. It's not the most nutritious meal, but it's something.
Brendon scoots himself onto the counter, feet hitting against the cabinets. "What were you thinking about?"
Spencer doesn't answer for a while, unearthing the last box of rotini noodles and dumping the entire thing into the pot. "It's nothing," he says carefully, turning the stove top up.
Brendon laughs. "I think you think about things too much. You just need to go for it," he says, and he really is grinning at the end, waggling his eyebrows. "Because I think you're thinking about Jon."
Spencer rolls his eyes and ignores him, keeping his eyes on the water as it turns cloudy from the pasta. He doesn't need to answer Brendon's stupid questions about Jon or feed into whatever Brendon thinks is going on there. Brendon doesn't know anything about this, and it's none of his business.
Except. He looks at Brendon from under his eyelashes, one quick stolen glance. Brendon's just watching him stand in front of the pasta with an almost peaceful expression, only wincing a little when one of the dueling guitars in the background hits a completely fucked up chord. (Ryan will probably love it and want it on the album, he knows.)
Except that it is sort of Brendon's business, because it's partially Brendon's band as much as it is his or Jon's, and if they take that risk, and something goes wrong, Brendon's going to find out. It won't be from him or from Jon or Ryan. It won't be stupid mistakes or too-loose pants. It's going to be Pete at best, or a supermarket tabloid. It could be Brendon's mom, for all Spencer knows. These things work in strange ways.
He puts his spoon down and doesn't look at Brendon still. "If there were," he starts, but he doesn't know how to finish. He's never tried to tell anyone, to say it out loud, and it's not like he can expect Brendon to just know.
"If there were?" Brendon repeats, voice gentle, as he scoots a little closer to the stove.
He shakes his head and forces himself to look at Brendon. He wants to close his eyes, but he can't because this is Brendon. "You know how Brian, like from the Dresden Dolls--"
"I know where Brian's from," Brendon interrupts, like there's only one Brian in the entire world that they all know. His eyebrows are just a little wrinkled with confusion. "What about Brian? Do you think we could take him and Amanda again, to open for us? If we could finish the album, I think they'd go really well with whatever sound Ryan's trying to make."
Spencer rolls his eyes. "I think we need to worry about finishing the thing before we talk about openers." He sticks his hands into his back pockets. "But you know how Brian does, um," he has to look at Brendon; he can't look away from Brendon, "that whole thing, with women's clothes." He doesn't know why he can't just say it, but his fingers are shaking.
Brendon nods. "Yeah, I know. He's Brian. What about him?"
Spencer forces himself to take a breath. It's shallow because he's three seconds from running out of the room and away from this conversation. Brendon's supposed to be his safety, the only one that doesn't know anything about that. He could walk out right now, tell Jon to forget the whole thing, and Brendon would never have to know.
"This isn't about Brian," Spencer says instead of walking out and away. He looks at Brendon's face, meeting his eyes. "This is about me."
Brendon blinks and looks away first. "Oh," he says, and he slides off the counter. "Um." He doesn't back away from Spencer, but he doesn't say anything else.
"There's a chance that if Jon and I do anything, that someone could find out," Spencer says, and he's just barely not-whispering. "And I didn't want you to find out like that." He doesn't really want to think about how anyone could find out, but there is a possibility.
Brendon nods. "Oh," he says again. He wraps his arms around himself. "So Jon and Ryan know?" He's still speaking carefully, forehead creased.
Spencer looks back at the pasta and stirs it again. "Yeah. Ryan's known forever, and Jon found out by accident." He feels like he should explain the theory of Brendon being safe for him, but it sounds sort of stupid in his head. Spencer probably couldn't get it out if he tried.
Brendon goes quiet again, still wrapped up in himself. Spencer makes as much noise as he can with the vegetable medley, banging the frozen bag around as he dumps it all into the steamer. He throws the steamer into the microwave and slams the door after it. He tries not to concentrate on how Brendon's not talking or moving, but he can't stop glancing back.
And then Brendon moves forward and puts his arms around Spencer's neck and holds him. "I don't know what to say yet," he says, voice a little shaky. Spencer hasn't heard that voice in years; it's the same one Brendon used when Ryan talked about making out with guys.. "But I'm glad you told me." He's smiling when he pulls away, and he helps Spencer set the table.
***
He's not sure what to expect at first, after dinner and a few rounds of video games. His stomach is still jumping from his conversation with Brendon, so much so that he doesn't notice when Jon gets up until the other man brushes his fingers over Spencer's neck, just along the hairline, as he leaves the room.
Spencer watches Brendon play one more round of Grand Theft Auto before he gets up too. He doesn't excuse himself, but he can feel Ryan watching him as he leaves. It makes his neck heat up.
Jon's sitting on the edge of the bed when Spencer gets there, camera loose in one hand. His sandals are forgotten, hair dried strange from swimming. "Um, I can wait in the hall while you change, if you want," he says.
Spencer pulls on the hem of his t-shirt and shakes his head. "I can use the bathroom." They've seen each other naked before, but there's something more in this. He doesn't want to strip down in front of Jon, especially when he's got a camera in his hand.
Spencer grabs a black camisole and the black boyshorts with the rouched sides, blue bows tied under the fabric. He doesn't usually wear them--his girls jeans are tight enough without unexplained bow marks, but they seem all right for this.
He locks the door going into Ryan's room before he changes, and then it's all sort of strangely clinical, like he's putting on a robe at the doctor's office instead of this, whatever he should call this, for Jon.
Spencer wipes his hands on one of the towels, before he picks up his old clothes and walks back into the bedroom. He doesn't ask if what he's got on is all right. Jon's eyes go wide, and then he smiles.
The overhead light is off, and Jon's got two reading lamps on his night stand. One of them probably, hopefully, came out of Jon's own room. Spencer doesn't want to ask if one of them belonged in Ryan's.
"How should I do this?" Spencer says. He sits on the bed as close to the headboard as he can, as far from Jon as he can get. He crosses his arms over his chest and waits. He's still out of sorts from the afternoon; sitting in the slightly too-cool room isn't making the nerves any easier to handle.
Jon stands and moves back. The light is behind Spencer, makes more shadows, and it's hard to see Jon's face. "Just move back into the light a little, and just... That's fine, what you're doing."
It's strange at first, to have Jon clicking the pictures and being the one to come closer and adjust the way he's sitting or the way his head is turned. Jon's fingers are dry and sweep over his skin in practiced, quick touches. Spencer leans into them more than he probably should, much more than he ever does at a real photo shoot, but Jon doesn't mention it.
"Hey," Jon says, and he comes closer and into the light. His eyes are on Spencer's face, but there's a sheen of something, and Spencer can feel the twist of it in his own stomach, the beginning of sweat on his arms. "Lean back against the pillow and just sort of--"
"Like this?" Spencer asks, and he grabs the headboard with one hand, wraps his fingers around a spoke. He doesn't look away from Jon, from the way Jon licks his lips and nods before he has the camera up again.
He's never been as good at posing for pictures as Brendon is, doesn't have the explosive personality that translates well onto film. He doesn't look down and away, doesn't act like he's ashamed or demure. He wants to be himself for this, if they're really doing it.
Spencer tries to look as honest as possible when Jon has him set in a pose, expression steady. He might be a touch flushed, but it is what it is. It's not like the girls' underwear hides anything, and there's no way Jon can miss that he's already half-hard and stretching the fabric.
Jon comes closer, slides on knee onto the bed for a better angle, and he pulls the camera down. "Maybe turn your head a little?" His voice is rough, coming from someplace deep in his throat, and he doesn't look back through the viewfinder when Spencer follows his direction, not until Spencer looks back at him with raised eyebrows.
He wants to ask, if this is what Jon planned, but he doesn't. He lets Jon take his arm down and push him gently until he's lying out on the bed and stretched out. The comforter has been tossed off, kicked off earlier in the shoot, and the sheets are crisp, clean white. He wants to know what it looks like, except that Jon rolls a bit of the camisole up to expose more of his stomach.
Spencer can't breathe and knows Jon can see, could feel if he would move his hand down just a bit further. The room is too hot, even with the fan running and cool mountain air rushing in through cracked windows. Jon keeps the camera up, though, still taking pictures.
One of his hands lingers on Spencer's legs, on the calf, and his fingers curl a little when Spencer breathes out through his mouth, shaky. Then Jon's on top of him, heavy and warm and Spencer can feel himself sinking into the mattress. Jon's thick fingers are in his hair before they kiss, open mouths and a little sloppy. His hands are already on Jon's shirt, trying to pull it up and over and out.
Jon breaks the kiss to help him, but then he's back, one of his legs between Spencer's, pressing just to this side too much. Spencer pushes on Jon, makes him move back, but Jon just readjusts and then Jon's teeth are on his throat. Spencer doesn't try to stop making noise, softs gasps but louder groans. Brendon and Ryan are downstairs, could be in the next room, and he can't even pretend to care.
"Fuck," Jon whispers with another press of his hips, and Spencer can feel him through heavy denim, the blunt, hard press of Jon's cock. He reaches down and palms him. He's too aware of everything, too hypersensitive to Jon's hands sliding under the camisole and then Jon's mouth at his throat, scratch of Jon's beard on his collar bone.
Spencer bucks his hips and pressed on Jon's stomach so Jon will roll over, and he can work at undoing Jon's fly, unbuckling the belt after because his hands are shaking. He can't tell if it's want or need or nerves, because it's now with Jon's hand stroking him firmly through soft cotton.
He gets Jon's jeans down far enough, just far enough that he can open his underwear and pull him out. He slides down Jon's denim clad legs and bucks his hips against Jon's knee before he takes Jon into his mouth.
Jon's hand is on the back of his neck, not pressing him into it but just holding, and he's saying things that don't make sense. Spencer licks around the head, the slit, with one hand wrapped around the base, moving in intervals when he can concentrate long enough. The other hand presses on Jon's hips to keep them down, and he presses harder than he needs to, wants bruises in the morning, something lasting, so this won't be some sort of fucked up thing that just happened.
"Spencer," Jon slurs, and it's all sort of mangled between the lisp and the rawness there. "Stop." Jon's hand is in his hair again, and he tugs on it, gentle at first and then harder.
He pulls back to glare, because he's never been that into hair pulling. Jon murmurs an apology and kisses him again. His hands are on Spencer's shoulders, thumbs digging in just under Spencer's collar bone. Spencer's not the only one that wants bruises in the morning.
"I wanna fuck you," Jon says, and it's the same sex-roughed voice. "Is that okay?" It doesn't quite sound like Jon, but it does. Spencer wonders how he managed to get through a year of knowing Jon without knowing he could sound like that.
"Yeah," he murmurs, hazy as he lets Jon push him back onto bed. The camisole gets discarded in the process, but Jon's whispering against his skin, a long line of words that starts with, "God, you have no idea what you look like, I've wanted to," and fades into a stream of nonsense.
When Jon's pushing the boyshorts down, slower than he needs to, slow enough to make Spencer whine high in his throat, Spencer gasps out, and his own voice seems destroyed, "Don't we need--" Jon's hand on his dick steals the words.
"I've got it covered," Jon says, and he pulls back from Spencer long enough to kick off the jeans, the underwear, and Spencer can see the small tube of lube and a foil package before Jon's rolling him over and licking the line of his spine.
Spencer's done this before, on tours, with techs and once with Siska, but it doesn't quite prepare him from the way Jon just licks into him like it's nothing. He makes a noise that the entire cabin and surrounding county had to hear.
He can't remember if he locked the bedroom door or not. He can't care, doesn't have the attention or the energy because then Jon's mouth is gone, and there's cool, slick fingers instead. There's the burn and then the feeling of full-almost, with his hips bucking on the crisp sheets that aren't clean anymore.
Spencer tries to count the fingers, but it's all sort of a blur, Jon's mouth on the base off his spine while he moves his hand, and then Jon's fingers pull out. Spencer's wound-tight and more than ready when Jon has himself slicked up and pushing inside. He scratches at the mattress in an effort to hold on, to grab something, while he adjusts and waits for the burn to die down, and his skin is too flushed, too warm already. When the burn dies, he has to roll his hips and try to fuck back against Jon.
Jon laughs, near his ear now, and he has one hand on Spencer's cock, wet with lube and tugging. The rhythm's wrecked to hell, but it's enough even without Jon's voice in his ear.
"Next time, I want to watch you," he says, voice low and somehow even, even though he's buried inside Spencer and Spencer can feel the way his hips are starting to go erratic, the tremors running through Jon's skin.
Spencer can only nod, gasping something that might be agreement, before he's coming onto Jon's hand and the sheets. He slumps against the bed, boneless, and Jon's hips are still moving. It's almost too fast, too much, but he's riding the wave of his orgasm still. Jon's other hand is firm on his hips, holding him steady, just before Jon groans and bears down, collapsing onto Spencer's back.
Jon pulls out and gets out of bed to toss out the condom, kicking the lube onto the floor and making a noise when he steps on it. Spencer laughs quietly. There's already a burn hole on one of the couches from Ryan, so it doesn't matter if their security deposit gets shot to hell now.
Spencer goes to roll out of bed, to a shower to wash some of the smell and sweat away. His movements are slow, drowsy like he's just woken up.
Jon climbs back into the bed and reaches out for Spencer, one hand on Spencer's hip. "Where are you going?"
"Shower," he murmurs but he's already inching back, closer to Jon.
Jon makes a sound that sounds like agreement. "Inaminute," he whispers against Spencer's shoulder, and Spencer relaxes against Jon with his eyes closed. He can wait a minute.
***
Ryan is at the dining room table when he comes down the next morning, leaving Jon alone in the room. Spencer's barely dressed, just a pair of pajama pants that probably aren't clean. He knows there are bruises on his shoulders, but he doesn't actually think about it until Ryan looks up from his coffee cup. Then his hands fly up and try to hide them.
Ryan rolls his eyes, though. "So, it's okay?" He scratches at the patchy growth on his skin. "Like, nothing's going to blow up?"
Spencer rubs his neck, fingers brushing over an hours old bruise. "I think we're okay." He can smell toaster pancakes, the really cheap blueberry kind that always remind him of cheap diner breakfasts from tour. "Pancakes?"
"Brendon's making them. It's just the toaster kind." Ryan offers a ghost of a smile over the lip of his coffee cup before he opens his laptop, fingers clicking a few keys. You know if he does anything stupid, I'll kick his ass." His tone is as light as Ryan’s voice ever is.
It makes Spencer smile, at the image of Ryan trying to take down Jon, but he slides down in his seat to kick Ryan's ankle mercilessly. "I don't need you to protect me, Ross. I weigh twice as much as you do when you’re soaking wet in a parka."
"Right. That's why you can still fit in your girlie jeans." Ryan manages to catch one of Spencer's feet and presses his thumbnail into the soft sole.
Spencer does not squeak, but he makes a rather undignified sound before wrenching his foot away.
Brendon sticks his head out of the kitchen then, and he smiles at Spencer, as wide as ever. "So, where's Jon?" There's something warming his tone, and he knows that the mocking is coming. "Did you wear out our Jon Walker? We need a bassist, remember?"
"I want pancakes," Spencer says. His face feels too warm, and he debates chucking one of the books on the table at Brendon's head. Something in his chest eases, though, to see that too-big grin on Brendon's face.
"Pancakes are good," Jon says from the top of the stairs, and Spencer wants to sink lower in his chair from the absolutely evil smile that Ryan shoots Brendon. Ryan almost never smiles like that.
He wants to warn Jon, to go back to bed and abandon all hope of leaving the room today. It's not like they can't avoid Brendon and Ryan forever. They'll have to sleep sometime, and they're small and fit easily into closets.
It's too late, though, because Jon pads down the stairs in a pair of boxers and a t-shirt that looks borrowed. He's got tiny bruises on his neck too, and he kisses Spencer, morning breath and all, before he slides into his chair.
Spencer's absolute-best-friend-since-he-was-five is an asshole because he spreads his hands out on the table and deadpans, "I think there's going to be a rule against bus sex, because my delicate sensibilities have been violated." He shakes his head.
"Seriously," Brendon comes out of the kitchen with a massive plate of blueberry pancakes that he puts down with a loud thump. "Like I'm happy for you, but you're not allowed to complain ever again about me being loud."
Spencer looks over at Jon, halfway between blushing and smug. Jon's smiling though, and his hand brushes Spencer's when he reaches out for pancakes. He feels stupid, like he's grinning too wide for a good fuck and some frottage in the shower.
"We could have sex in the practice room, if you'd like." It's mostly soundproofed, even though they're miles from where anyone could be bothered by his drums or the loud screech of guitars.
Ryan actually pales at that. "I think that should be a rule, too. No bus sex and no sex where I might sit down in something gross." Spencer balls up his napkin and tosses it at Ryan's head.
"Like you never had sex with Jac in Brendon's bunk," he says, giving Brendon a smug little smile. It's a lie, but Brendon starts flailing as expected, screeching about betrayal. He'll tell Brendon the truth later, just so Brendon doesn't actually go and do something gross, like jack off with one of Ryan's scarves.
Jon leans against Spencer's shoulder, and he tips his head against Jon's. There will have to be talking, at some point, and it probably should have happened before they took the pictures. He's okay with a week from now, maybe a month. Right now, things are new and shiny, and he fell asleep with Jon curled around him.
"...but the really important thing is, Walker-" Brendon's apparently over being scandalized and is still talking. Spencer's not surprised. He’s heard Brendon talk in his sleep before, "-is you have to treat Spencer like a lady and buy him pretty flowers and dresses and things." Then his eyes go wide, suddenly realizing what he’s said, and he looks at Spencer with his bottom lip caught between his teeth.
Spencer stares back at him, straightening his back, and Ryan, because Ryan still notices everything, puts down his coffee mug.
"Girl stuff," Jon says, carefully. He's looking between the two of them, Spencer and Brendon, and Spencer knows that Jon isn't fooled by the way he pauses before he clarifies. "Like jewelry and sexy negligees and shit."
"Yes," Brendon says before he slumps into his chair, grabbing a pancake off the plate. His lips are quirking, like he wants to smile at his jab, but he's not sure if he should. "Exactly like that. It's conducive to getting laid, and that's always important."
Spencer starts to smile before he looks up at the table, at the three people that probably know more about him than is really healthy, and he's almost laughing as he adds, "Brendon's right, Jon. I need to be wooed before I'll let you besmirch my virtue, uh, again." He watches Ryan, the way his eyes go wide and nose crinkles. He almost looks pale, maybe a little green, and his eyes flick to Jon. Spencer gets it, though. Hearing Ryan having sex with Keltie would be almost as gross as parent-sex.
Brendon's already giggling, nervous and high, and Spencer starts to laugh with him two beats before Jon joins in.